Kurt and Blaine, sitting in a tree
by agnesiest
Summary: Ok, not really. They're really next to a tree. And there's no kissing. But there is kinky, smutty goodness. And angst. Woot!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Sometimes kinkiness backfires. Sadface. Vaguely set in the spring pre-OS. **

Kurt was sitting against an old oak tree in a secluded part of the Dalton grounds. It was one of those rare brilliant days in early spring when the sun was shining brightly and warmly, and all the snow had melted from the ground, which was emitting a warm, musty odor into the air and a sense of waiting and expectation into his heart. He knew that it would probably snow again before the real spring set in, so he had decided to take advantage of this warm lull. As was his wont, he had planned everything to perfection, and so now he was sitting on a fluffy, burgundy picnic blanket, a basket with cut up grapefruit and strawberries by his side, a beautiful pashmina shawl draped around his shoulders to keep out any stray chills, a novel in his lap (Jane Austen, what else?), and his iPod in his jacket pocket should his mood change more towards music. He only had an hour for lunch, but he intended to make the most of it. He settled into the romance of the novel he was reading, every once in a while absentmindedly bringing a piece of fruit to his lips.

"I wondered where you'd got to." Blaine's voice came from behind him, and Kurt instinctively leaned his head backwards to find the source. And there he was, above and behind him, leaning against the tree, his arms crossed over his chest and his hip jutting out slightly. Sunlight played in the highlights of his hair and glinted off the hazel of his eyes. Kurt smiled.

"Just enjoying the sun. I feel like I've been trapped inside for years, not months," replied Kurt, squinting slightly as he gazed up at his beautiful friend. The squint seemed to create halos of light around Blaine, glancing off his cheeks and the mounds of his shoulders. Kurt smiled wider. Spring really agreed with Blaine.

"You've got quite the set up here."

"Well, you don't expect me to sit on the actual ground," Kurt said, mock shivering.

Blaine laughed lightly. "Never. It looks comfortable. Can I join you?"

Kurt's smiled widened even more, his teeth finally peeking through from between his lips. "Of course," he replied simply, and then he shifted over to make space on the blanket for Blaine, his back sliding roughly against the incredibly wide, old oak.

Blaine took a step forward, and then stretched his arms up over his head, yawning widely. "I am so exhausted," he said. "Do you mind if I use your lap as a pillow? Maybe take a nap?"

Kurt's felt his smile freeze on his face as his teeth clicked shut. His calm, engendered by the sun and the warmth and the strong oak tree at his back, disappeared in an instant. His mind and body were instead filled with the image of Blaine's head nestled in his lap, so very close to his – Kurt blinked, chasing the image away as he realized that Blaine was staring down at him, waiting for a reply. He somehow managed to unclench his jaw, trying to soften the smile that he knew must now resemble a grimace more than anything else, and said, "Sure, why not?" Then he shrugged elaborately and whipped his head around, fixing his eyes on the indecipherable words that swam on the pages in front of him. He lifted the book from his lap and set it aside, trying desperately to keep his hand from shaking.

Blaine dropped to his knees on the blanket beside him, then twisted around and leaned back into Kurt's lap. He settled his head near the top of Kurt's thigh and sighed, looking up with sparkling hazel eyes. "Comfy," he grinned, and then his eyes fluttered shut.

Kurt searched around for some way to calm himself down because Blaine's head was dangerously close to a certain area and all he would have to do was turn to the side and slightly up, and then he would know how very calm Kurt wasn't. Kurt settled on bitchy insecurity, because it always served him well in tense situations. "Are you saying my thighs are fat?" he snarked.

"No. Lean and muscular. Just how I like my pillows," murmured Blaine sleepily. Then he hummed under his breath and added, "That came out slightly wrong."

_No shit._ Kurt leaned his head back against the oak, staring up into the intertwining branches. Still leafless, the oak let patches of brilliant blue through, and Kurt focused on the pattern they made until he felt his calm beginning to return to him. He would just ignore the warm pressure that was Blaine's head on his thigh, go back to reading, and in an hour this ordeal would be over. He chanced a glance down at his friend. Blaine's mouth was slightly parted, the barest tip of his tongue peeking through his lips, and he was already breathing evenly and deeply. _Screw the book_, said Kurt's darker angel, and he decided that he would use this opportunity to memorize Blaine's perfect face. Because he needed more ammunition to fuel his desperate crush on his friend, right? Right.

Kurt let his eyes wander the still face beneath him, starting with the full, parted lips. He traced their outline slowly with his eyes, then settled between them, taking in the deep, luscious, dark pink of his tongue, wishing he could follow it further into the cavern of his mouth. Kurt shivered slightly, and tore his eyes away before his body forced him to follow that thought through. His eyes lingered on Blaine's strong, angular jaw, tracing the barely visible, but heartbreakingly masculine shadow of the beard that was already trying to struggle to the surface of his skin, even though he had undoubtedly shaved this morning. He traveled up, delving and swirling into the planes and dips of Blaine's perfectly formed ear, getting tangled in the hair that was molded and gelled around it, a few curly wisps escaping the hold just at the nape of his neck. He moved back to his face, skittering over each long, black eyelash that rested against the pure olive of his skin, tracing the wide semi-circle of his eyelids, which were twitching slightly, causing his lashes to scrap and flutter just the slightest bit against the thin skin under his eyes. Up he went, to those odd triangular eyebrows, impossibly thick and bushy, which should have been off-putting to someone so obsessed with impeccable grooming as Kurt, but which actually added in some strange way to the perfection of his face. Their uniqueness tipped Blaine's face from incredibly handsome to stunningly beautiful, and Kurt had long ago decided they were his favorite feature. Well, except maybe for his eyes. Or his lips. Movement caught his eyes, and Kurt slid down the strong plane of Blaine's nose to settle back onto those lips, which were twitching slightly. Blaine's tongue flicked out lightening quick, dragging along his lower lip, leaving it glistening. A heavier breath followed this movement, and Kurt had to shut his eyes to stop himself from leaning down and stealing it into his own lungs.

Another, sharper movement dragged Kurt's eyes away from Blaine's face down his torso. Blaine's right hand, which had been resting below his left on his belly, was slipping into the gap below the button of his blazer. Kurt watched, mesmerized, as the hand smoothed small circles into the fabric of Blaine's dress shirt, and he could not help but notice that the circles themselves were slowly traveling lower and lower. Kurt tore his eyes away from this awesome, in the true sense of the word, and somewhat terrifying spectacle, and fixed his gaze back on Blaine's face once more. He seemed to be sleeping still. His breath was deeper than before, but still even, and strong enough that Kurt could feel it tickle his face from two feet away. His eyes were closed, lids jumping slightly as the orbs beneath them moved quickly from side to side. Dreaming, then. But about what? Kurt looked back down. Blaine's hand had made definitely progress. It was hovering over his belt buckle, and just beyond the buckle was the evidence of exactly what kind of dream Blaine was having. Kurt could see the entire length of Blaine's erection pressing against his trousers. He blushed and began to panic.

What does one do in a situation like this? What's the etiquette? How was he supposed to deal with the fact that the impossibly gorgeous boy that he was in love with was about to _touch himself_ in front of him, but was not conscious of it? Should he shake him awake? Call out his name? Try to ignore it? Yeah right: there was no way he could do that. And while Kurt was panicking, that hand was still travelling ever lower, and despite his panic, Kurt's eyes were following its progress. And there it was, the proverbial point of no return: Blaine's palm was rubbing gently against his erection, his fingers tense and splayed almost upwards, and Kurt had done nothing to prevent it from getting there. He felt frozen, and his mouth was completely dry. His panic was still there, but it was an annoying buzz in the back of his mind because this, what he was seeing, was the most terrifyingly wondrous thing he had ever seen in his life. It was overwhelming, it was all-consuming, and there was no way he was going to do anything to stop it, regardless of what the consequences of that might be, which he couldn't really consider right now because his mind was literally blown. Blaine's palm was pressing harder, its movements swifter, and the breath that kept hitting Kurt's face was steadily becoming faster, harsher. The heel of Blaine's palm dug sharply into his erection, and then suddenly it stopped moving and his fingers twitched spasmodically. Kurt stared at the hand, not understanding how or why it had stopped, just desperately willing it to continue.

"Kurt?"

And there it was, the panic that had been shuffled off into the corner of his mind, resurfacing again and inundating him, pressing a chill deep into his body, twisting his stomach. He held his breath and reluctantly withdrew his eyes from Blaine's crotch, slowly dragging them up his body and finally meeting his eyes. Kurt didn't quite understand what he saw there. Blaine's pupils were almost completely dilated, regardless of the sunlight shining down on both of them, but they still somehow managed to convey what Kurt thought was a heated mixture of confusion, fear and lust. He felt like he could happily drown in the black swirl of emotion that was Blaine's eyes, and then he felt a wave of shame wash through him. Lust aside, since when did Blaine confused or afraid make him happy? He suddenly felt like he was the most horrible person in the world, and yet…it didn't keep him from drinking in those eyes.

They 'd been staring at each other for what felt like hours to Kurt, but was really only a few moments when Blaine quickly squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, and said, "I'm so sorry."

_Sorry? For what? Being an Adonis? Showing me the most amazing thing I've ever seen? Giving me fantasy and masturbation fodder that will probably last me until I drop dead of a coronary at the ripe age of 89 and when they find me with my dick in my hand and pry open my jaws my last breath pours out in the shape of your name? I love you! What could you possibly have to be sorry for?_

What he said was, "I don't mind at all." And strangely, his voice came out sounding distant and a little cold. But he could swear that he saw Blaine's pupils expand until the hazel was almost completely gone. They were so huge that Kurt could actually see that they were empty space beyond the thin film protecting them.

"No?" Blaine's voice mimicked his eyes, deep and dark, capable of drowning Kurt without trying. There was a glimmer of something that resembled hope in his voice too, and Kurt clung to that like a life-raft. Blaine's eyes flickered downwards, and Kurt followed them, coming to rest once more on Blaine's crotch, where his hand was still gently cupping the outline of his erection.

"Should I…?" said Blaine tentatively, and suddenly Kurt saw two paths branching out in front of him. One was smooth, a path that ignored and repressed what he'd seen today, a path that fell back into the easy friendship they shared. A path where he had no chance of stumbling over his own inexperience and fear. The other path was thorny, overgrown and murky, a path that would leave him open and exposed and raw, a path that would take a kind of courage he didn't know if he had, and he had no idea where that path would lead. If he took that path, he could very well trip over his own feet and lose Blaine forever. Kurt stared down into the black whirlpools of Blaine's eyes, and felt himself being dragged down into them, down that second path, and he was overwhelmed by his desire to follow it. Blaine knew the way. Kurt recalled the time Blaine had almost offhandedly mentioned just how much experience he had before closing the subject with a finality that Kurt hadn't dared to try to get around since, though he had heard rumors, of course. Blaine knew what he was doing, and Kurt felt swayed enough by the lustful tug of Blaine's eyes to be able to meet him at least halfway. Kurt was terrified of touching Blaine, terrified of fumbling and awkwardness, but if Blaine did it himself with Kurt talking him through it, it might just break down the barrier of inexperience he was cowering behind. He screwed up his courage and opted for the second path, knowing he had to stride down it purposefully; he had to own it.

"You should…keep touching yourself," he said, and he was surprised at how sure and low his voice sounded. Commanding, even.

A low whine escaped from the back of Blaine's throat and somehow his eyes became even blacker. "Tell me what to do," he whined in a strangely broken voice. His eyes were fixed solely on Kurt's face, never wavering, hardly blinking.

Kurt pulled his own eyes away and trailed them down Blaine's body, stretched out perpendicular to his own, fully lit by the warm midday sun. He felt a heady sense of power rush through him as he said, "Unbutton your shirt first. I want to see you."

He felt Blaine's gasped breath against his cheek, but he didn't turn to look at his face. He kept his eyes trained on Blaine's body, watching as his hands tentatively came together at the button of his blazer then moved upwards to the first of his shirt buttons. As each button came undone, Blaine's breathing became more ragged, and by the time he reached the last button his chest was rising and falling in a rapid, stuttering rhythm.

"Spread it away. Show yourself to me," commanded Kurt in the same low, distant voice. Blaine hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly pulled it away from his chest. Kurt resisted the urge to start crying and babbling at Blaine about how beautiful he was, how impossible he was. He felt like he had to remain strong and in control, or he would somehow lose this moment so he schooled himself, staring intently at the dips and curves and sharp lines of Blaine's upper body. "Put your hands on your chest. Stroke yourself," he said calmly.

Blaine's hands travelled over his chest, and in some strange way he seemed to be following the trails Kurt's eyes left over his skin, as if he knew where Kurt wanted his hands without even being told. He rubbed at his nipples, ghosted over his ribs, dragged fingernails into his hips, all while panting raggedly and every once in a while emitting that strange, broken whine. Kurt watched it all avidly, his eyes never once leaving Blaine's skin.

"Unbuckle your belt," commanded Kurt finally. Blaine's hands shook as they worked at the buckle, but it was done quickly. "Now your pants."

When the button and zipper of Blaine's trousers had been taken care of, Kurt had to pause and collect himself. He felt unreal, and the sun was no longer comfortably warm. Instead it beat down on him, illuminating every line of Blaine's body in a harsh, piercing light. Everything seemed sharp, from the light glinting off Blaine's zipper to the harsh staccato of his breath huffing up towards Kurt's cheek.

"Lift your hips and pull them off – pants and boxers," he said finally, his voice controlled, low, perfectly neutral.

Blaine clawed at his clothing, pulling it down just enough that his erection sprang free. His hands stayed tangled in his boxers for the entire long minute that Kurt took to drink in the sight before him. The hair on Blaine's stomach descended in a sharp v-shape to the base of his penis; dark, trimmed and neat, it was still obviously curly. Kurt blinked, his mind going back to the wispy curls at the nape of Blaine's neck, but he didn't look to check; he couldn't tear his eyes away because nestled in that hair was the most beautiful cock Kurt was sure he would ever see. It was smooth and long, with delicate traceries of veins travelling up and around in a pattern that would surely be burned into his brain. He could see the olive brown that colored the rest of Blaine's skin as a translucent shading over a deep red that came from beneath. The head was defined and cut, perfectly shaped, and a bead of pre-cum clung to it like a tear. It hung upwards, curving slightly towards Blaine's right hip. Kurt realized how long he'd been staring when Blaine whined and it twitched slightly as if shy of his avid attention.

"Touch yourself. Slowly."

Blaine's right hand crept upwards and wound around his shaft. He began stroking at a languorous pace, pausing at the head to spread the pre-cum around. It glistened in the sunlight, making the skin it touched shine an olive-red. "Faster," commanded Kurt, his voice still even but slightly gruffer. Blaine sped up his movements, another broken whine blossoming from his mouth and hitting Kurt's cheek in a puff of air. It was followed by yet another, and another, the whines shorter and more fragile seeming, the breath stronger and hotter. Kurt saw that Blaine's balls were beginning to tighten and draw into his body, so he commanded, "Come."

Blaine's back arched, his head pressing painfully into Kurt's thigh, and thick, white plumes of semen leapt from the head of his cock as his whine turned into a shrieking sob. Kurt watched in awe as his chest was covered in pools and splashes of translucent white. As Blaine's body shuddered back down towards the ground, Kurt reached out his hand and touched the tip of his index finger to one pool. He lifted it to his lips and tasted it; he tasted the perfect salty sweetness of Blaine; he tasted Blaine. He moaned contentedly, sure in his conviction that the world had suddenly become an impossibly good place, a place where nothing bad could ever happen because there was this perfection, this bliss. He turned his head to look down at Blaine's face, and that conviction shattered.

Blaine's eyes were squeezed shut, and the tracks of many tears cut through the beautiful olive of his cheeks. Tears clung to his eyelashes, and his mouth was twisted into a tight, pitiful grimace over his trembling chin.

"Blaine! What – "

Blaine's eyes flew open, and the formerly blown pupils were now pinpricks of black surrounded by blazing hazel. A storm of pain and shame flew from those eyes and slammed into Kurt. Kurt couldn't think, couldn't speak; all he could do was stare in shock and horror as he was beaten back by the tears streaming down Blaine's face. And then suddenly Blaine's body was curling upwards, away from his, hands fumbling with his clothing as he shot up to his feet. Then he was running, shirt and blazer flapping loosely away from his body, hands desperately holding his pants to his body; he was running, and he was running away from Kurt.

Kurt watched him flee, too shocked to move. He drew a deep, shuddering breath that collapsed into a seemingly unending series of breathy sobs as he realized – he'd chosen the wrong path.

**AN: Fluff, smut, angst. Rinse, lather, repeat. If you lovely people are interested in why Blaine reacted the way he did, let me know. I have some ideas for Blaine's POV, and if there's enough interest I could be persuaded to continue and maybe even resolve this. If not, let it forever remain an angsty one-shot. Huzzah! (That may have been inappropriate, but that's my bailiwick.) **


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Purple prose is purple. **

**This is AU in the sense that here I don't think the Gap Attack or Rachel happened, because my Blaine has been holding himself back for a while now. You'll see why. Also, David's a bit strange, but I couldn't get away from my (now) running gag about Wevid looking at porn together. It's the only slightly amusing thing in this story, but I wonder if it isn't a complete fail.**

**Just in case it wasn't clear at first, I do not own Glee. This is probably a good thing, judging from this story, because we all need Klainebows to abound or we will curl up into little, whimpering balls of despair. **

Blaine was deep in a slightly uncomfortable conversation with David about Wes's sudden obsession with vintage 1920s porn when he saw Kurt stride through the far side of the courtyard, a blanket tucked under his arm and a basket swinging from one hand. His mind wandered away from the topic of conversation – it wasn't exactly engaging – and his eyes followed Kurt. He wondered where Kurt was headed, and more importantly, why he hadn't invited Blaine along.

"Look, Blaine, I know that you're on this whole abstinence kick recently, or as you like to call it, 'we're just friends', and that it makes it hard for you to concentrate whenever Kurt's ass is walking out a door, but could you please pay attention to me? I'm seriously traumatized!"

"Traumatized? By 'small-breasted women with wide hips and too much body hair'?" scoffed Blaine, snapping his eyes away from Kurt's retreating figure. "Why are you even talking to me about this, David? You know I can't sympathize with your oh so serious trauma. And if you talk about Kurt that way again, I'm going to clue Wes in on just how much his new hobby bothers you."

"I do apologize," said David, slightly sarcastically. "It's just that if he gets anywhere within a hundred yards of you, your eyes zero in and remain locked on target until he's gone, and he obviously wants you too, so I just don't get why you haven't fucked him yet."

"One, Kurt's not like that. And two, I'm going online tonight and buying as much as I can to add to Wes's collection. He's going to be wallpapering your dorm room with the stuff," threatened Blaine.

"Ugh, Blaine! I take it back! I fully support your decision to cock-block yourself because Kurt's an innocent little putty-tat! Please, please, please don't threaten me with sepia-toned, totally un-hot wallpaper!" whined David, holding up his hands in the internationally recognized 'I surrender' gesture. Blaine didn't buy it for a second.

"You are being so very annoying today, David. Why don't you just ignore it? I mean, you don't have to look at it, right?" replied Blaine, knowing full well what David's answer would be.

"But we ALWAYS look at porn together. It's our thing," David whined, genuinely upset this time.

"Yeah, because Wes has somehow managed to convince you that jerking off together isn't gay in the slightest," smirked Blaine.

"It's not! We usually don't even touch each other!"

"Usually?" Blaine was now gaping full on at David, snark completely fled.

"Shit happens. But that's the problem with this vintage crap. I couldn't get into it and Wes had to help me out."

"Oh my god, Wes is a genius," said Blaine, smirk back in place. "Generally, David," said Blaine in his best birds and bees voice, "mutual orgasms that involve two guys fall within the realm of gay."

"That's so not true," replied David. "You've fooled around with half the guys in this school, and most of them are still straight."

Blaine cringed slightly, a familiar feeling of unworthiness sweeping through him, but he covered it up with a nonchalant, "Well, it was all gay at the time."

"Whatever. You're just jealous of my bromance. It's more commitment than you've ever had, and you've gone all middle class family values since Kurt showed up."

Blaine just looked at him silently for a moment, trying to stifle his hurt and to remember that David didn't really know how he felt about all that. Plus, he was right. When Blaine had come to Dalton, he'd been so excited to be away from the toxic public school environment and so pleased to be able to express who he was, that he'd basically whored it up for an entire year, not really realizing that that _wasn't_ who he was until the shame and degradation of it had sunk deep into his bones. He'd made himself available to anyone who was interested, tried to get into the pants of anyone he could, and he was so charming that that was basically everyone, especially as he never objected to being used like a blow up doll by straight boys who were horny due to the lack of girls. He'd drawn a few lines, the most important of which was no Warblers, but even that he'd transgressed – he'd given Jeff a quick and dirty blow-job last spring after he'd won out over the boy in yet another solo audition. If Kurt hadn't come along, he'd probably still be doing it, and he probably wouldn't have even noticed yet how cheap and shameful it made him feel because the actual sex always covered that up, made him feel accomplished and worthy of the strange adoration he engendered in his peers. He didn't even really know what it was about Kurt that made him stop; David would probably say it was his innocence, but that had never been a factor for him before. In fact, he'd even made it a game at times to corrupt the boys who blushed and looked down when he flirted with them. No, not innocence. It was something more Kurt – a strong, intangible sense of himself that called forth a sympathetic yearning in Blaine to stop covering up his own self with cheap pleasure. And so here he was, months later, finally fully aware of how much he had degraded himself, and even more aware of the fact that he was in love with Kurt, but terrified of initiating anything. What if it was still the same? What if he still felt cheap and used, even by Kurt? That fear was steadily lessening: the more time he spent with Kurt, the more assured he became that the other boy loved him as well. But it wasn't gone yet, and Blaine usually kept enough distance between the two of them that he didn't think that boundary would be transgressed anytime soon. And, surprisingly, he was okay with that. There had been times, when he first began what he referred to privately as his 'new life', when he was worried that the lack of sex was going to set him off, make him do something stupid, make him either jump Kurt or respond to the advances of another boy. These had tapered off, of course – at first he'd had to fend off quite a few guys who were used to his easy availability, but the proverbial memo had gone around, so now only the sleaziest still made an attempt, and they were by far the easiest to resist. What worried him most was that Kurt would make a move before Blaine was ready, and he wouldn't be able to resist. Kurt knew, in a very vague sense, about how he had been before. Blaine had simply told him, 'I was a bit of a slut last year. I'm done with it now, but I don't really want to talk about it.' To which Kurt had replied with a slight widening of his eyes, and then a thoughtful nod coupled with an encouraging smile.

"Blaine? Are you okay?" asked David, finally realizing that Blaine's seemingly calm stare was lasting a little too long.

Blaine smiled faintly at David. For all their swiping at each other at times, he was one of his few true friends. He thought briefly of having a talk with Wes to make sure that his little porn games weren't going to cause either of them to get hurt. But not today; today, he was feeling low and the best way he knew to deal with that was, of course, Kurt.

"I'm fine, David. Listen, this has been fascinating, but I think I'm going to go find Kurt for the rest of lunch. Go strengthen your bromance with Wes; he's in the library studying for a Chem test and I'm sure he could use the distraction."

"Go get him," replied David with a saucy wink.

Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly and walked away from David, making his way out onto the grounds, guessing from the blanket and picnic basket that Kurt was stretched out under a certain old oak tree that he'd been enamored of since he first came to Dalton. And he was right. Kurt was sitting on his blanket, back to the tree, so thoroughly engrossed in his book that he didn't notice Blaine's approach. Blaine leaned against the tree and marveled silently at Kurt's beauty. His beauty literally shone out of him, highlighted by the early spring sunlight that glanced golden off his chestnut hair. His beauty had nothing to do with sex appeal, though he had quite enough of that to go around, but rather it was once again something intrinsic to Kurt, something that poured out of him at all times and made Blaine wish he could find a similar beauty within himself.

"I wondered where you'd got to," he said, and smiled happily when Kurt turned his sun-kissed face towards the sound of his voice, an answering smile gracing his lips.

"Just enjoying the sun. I feel like I've been trapped inside for years, not months."

"You've got quite the set up here," said Blaine, taking in Kurt's picnic. He especially loved the shawl. It was so Kurt.

"Well, you don't expect me to sit on the actual ground."

"Never. It looks comfortable. Can I join you?"

"Of course."

"I am so exhausted," said Blaine, stretching his arms out and yawning. It was true, he'd been up until 3 am finishing a paper. Plus, the mental flogging he'd given himself earlier had completely cancelled out his morning coffee. "Do you mind if I use your lap as a pillow? Maybe take a nap?"

Blaine thought he saw Kurt tense up, and momentarily questioned the wisdom of what he was proposing. But he really was tired, and they were outside, and he really, really wanted to be close to Kurt right now. He needed the comfort to chase away the dark thoughts from earlier. So he waited, saying nothing. "Sure, why not?" replied Kurt in an airy voice after a few moments.

Blaine sighed happily and flopped down onto the blanket, resting his head on Kurt's thigh. "Comfy," he said dreamily, and then he closed his eyes and let the contact with Kurt wash through him. It went straight to his heart.

"Are you saying my thighs are fat?" It was said in Kurt's bitch voice. Blaine loved Kurt's bitch voice.

"No. Lean and muscular. Just how I like my pillows," he mumbled without thinking. Then he realized that that might be a little too physical of a description; he tried to avoid saying things like that to Kurt whenever possible. He hummed under his breath and added, "That came out slightly wrong." Kurt didn't respond so he let himself drift away, the heat at the back of his head and the sun playing over his face pulling him under quickly.

"_I love you," he breathed, brushing his lips against mine. I sighed into them, completely overwhelmed, and he pressed his lips gently into mine, opening his mouth and teasing me sweetly with his tongue. I let him in, and the kiss became more passionate, more impossibly overwhelming. His hands were smoothly caressing my sides, holding me firmly, gently, lovingly. Every part of my body he touched became alive in a way I had never experienced before, and when he brought our hips together I knew that this was perfection, this was bliss. I felt washed clean, loved and loving, strong and supportive. Our thrusts became more heated, but there was nothing dirty about them, nothing shameful, nothing wrong. I had closed my eyes to revel in the beauty of his body and heart melding with mine, when he gave a particularly sharp thrust that swept through my soul and compelled me to open my eyes so I could see the love in his eyes at the moment we came together. I opened them and – _

Blaine stared up at Kurt, love still thrumming heatedly through his heart, so it was a moment before he realized that something was wrong, something was different than it had been a moment ago. Kurt wasn't gazing lovingly down into his eyes; he was staring somewhere else, his jaw slack, a blush gracing his cheeks. And then it all came crashing down on Blaine. He remembered where he was, realized he had been dreaming, felt his own hand pressing into his erection. He froze. He had been jerking himself off in Kurt's lap, and Kurt was aware of it if the direction his gaze was pointing was any clue. Blaine felt despair wash over him. Now Kurt would know just how much of a slut he was; only someone truly cheap would randomly start jerking off in front of another person. Kurt would realize how dirty Blaine was, how spoiled, and he would never love him. The shame he'd felt before came back, intensified by his sudden realization that he would never be worthy of the one person who mattered.

He had to get his attention, but he was terrified of the disgust he would undoubtedly see in Kurt's eyes. _There's nothing for it, though. It's all ruined anyway_. He steeled himself and said in a horribly hesitant voice, "Kurt?"

Kurt didn't respond right away. His breath hitched and his eyes widened, and then he slowly dragged them up Blaine's body, finally meeting Blaine's worried gaze. He didn't look disgusted, but there was a strange glimmer of something that Blaine had never seen in those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes before. He couldn't quite place it, couldn't quite catalogue it.

"I'm so sorry," said Blaine, searching those eyes for some clue as to what Kurt was feeling.

"I don't mind at all," said Kurt. There was something off about his voice, a reserve that had never been there before. Blaine felt trapped by that reserve. He desperately wished he knew what Kurt was thinking, what that glimmer and that reserve meant. Then the meaning of what Kurt said hit him like an anvil.

"No?" Blaine husked out, hope turning his voice deep. He cast his eyes down, taking in his hand, which still lay frozen over his erection, and cringed internally. But maybe it would be okay, maybe Kurt would lean down and capture his lips with his own, maybe Kurt would assure him that he was lovely and loved, beautiful and shameless. Maybe Kurt, with his almost magical sense of himself and the ease with which he navigated the world, would turn this into something else, something different from what it had always been.

"Should I…?" Blaine didn't really know what he was asking, besides some sort of guidance to help them out of this strange situation. His body felt frozen, waiting for Kurt to react. He stared up into Kurt's eyes, and Kurt stared down into his, and slowly, so slowly, the strange glimmer he'd noticed before changed into something all too familiar to Blaine. Lust.

"You should…keep touching yourself," said Kurt in an almost clinically cold voice. His eyes shifted away from Blaine's, and Blaine felt his heart break. Hope shattered in his chest and was replaced by a desperate desire to bring those eyes back to his own.

"Tell me what to do," Blaine wheezed like the slut he was. If this was what Kurt wanted, he would give it to him, even though the loss of those eyes and the lack of anything resembling affection in Kurt's voice and demeanor was killing him. If only he would just turn to him and kiss him, everything would be fine.

But no. Kurt's eyes remained fixed on his body. "Unbutton your shirt first. I want to see you." Blaine complied with shaky hands, his eyes so wide open, trying to read Kurt's expression, that he didn't notice the first tear as it slid down his cheek. He noticed the ones that followed, however, and he tried to hold back the accompanying sobs as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His chest was heaving by the time he finished, and Kurt had yet to notice. He probably didn't care.

"Spread it away. Show yourself to me," said Kurt, and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force back the tears. He'd give Kurt a good show, if that was all he could do. _You always give a good show_, he told himself bitterly.

"Put your hands on your chest. Stroke yourself," Kurt said in an almost dead voice. Blaine watched Kurt's gaze and followed it with his hands, trailing them wherever Kurt seemed to want them, suppressing his own wants, his own frantic desire to yell out, 'Look at me! Kiss me! Make this something different!'

"Unbuckle your belt," commanded Kurt finally, and Blaine knew he would never get that. He would never be loved. He would always be used. He struggled to accept this, telling himself he might as well enjoy it if that was all he would ever have. The struggle made his hands shake as they worked at his buckle, but it was undone quickly. "Now your pants."

"Lift your hips and pull them off – pants and boxers." Blaine complied, clutching his boxers in his fists as he watched Kurt avidly take him in. He felt exposed and devastated, and yet, like the whore he was, completely turned on by Kurt's detached and almost cruel perusal of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was still a frantic hope that Kurt would turn to him with love in his eyes and kiss him, that he would bring him back into the beauty and assurance that he embodied, but he was feeling more and more distanced from that hope, and when Kurt said, "Touch yourself. Slowly," he realized just how foolish he had been to ever think he even had the right to walk in the same world as Kurt. This was the way it was supposed to be, the way it always would be. He would be splayed out for others' consumption, for others' whims, and the part of himself that wanted something more, something different, would gradually become weaker and more hollow until it disappeared entirely. When Kurt told him to move his hand faster, he did so, but he didn't stop the sobs that accompanied each jerk. He was letting that part of himself go, and each sob, each jerk, brought him closer to what he was meant to be. He came when commanded like a good whore, and squeezed his eyes shut as the tears streamed down his face. His body knew what he was, and everything else was just a vain hope. Gone.

"Blaine! What – " Blaine's eyes flew open at the sound of Kurt's voice. It was his usual voice, filled with worry and concern, not the detached commanding tone he'd had when he was using Blaine, but it was too late. Too little and too late. He stared into Kurt's eyes for a moment, wishing with everything he had that for one moment this could be fixed, but he knew it couldn't, and he also knew that if he let himself hope again, he would be completely destroyed when that hope was inevitably dashed. He had to flee, now, before that hope was rekindled. He pulled his clothing together as best he could, and ran away from Kurt deeper into the Dalton grounds.

**AN: So yeah. Feeling like I may have written myself into a corner here. Any ideas on how they could come back from this would be greatly appreciated. Yes, I have no problem whoring myself out for reviews. I'm a sucker for approval, just like this version of Blaine. Love me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Just a little bit of progress with the help of our dear friend Wes, who is so obviously an evil genius it's not even funny. **

Blaine was long gone by the time Kurt calmed down enough to realize that he should have chased after him. He stared off into the space Blaine had vacated, trying to understand what had just happened. Why did Blaine cry? If it upset him, if he didn't want to do it, why did he? Kurt shook his head – it was too much to wrap his brain around. He must have done something wrong, but he didn't know what exactly – there were too many options, and he could feel himself becoming smaller and more insecure by the second. All he knew for sure was that a moment he thought was perfect had turned out not to be. And he had to find out why. But that meant talking to Blaine about what had happened, and his mind instantly skittered away from that thought. It had taken every ounce of strength he had to play the role he thought Blaine wanted him to play, and the implicit rejection of Blaine's tears made want to him retreat back behind his wall of inexperience. He obviously had no idea what he was doing, if that was the reaction he got.

Kurt's confused musings were interrupted by the alarm on his phone going off, reminding him that lunch was almost over. He had to get to class. He laughed humorlessly to himself. Yeah, he was going to be really attentive in class today. And later in Warblers practice, where he'd have to see Blaine. Oh god, he just wanted to hide. But he stood up, gathered the remnants of his ruined picnic, and trudged back towards the school. He was started to feel strangely numb, and the walls of Dalton looked vaguely unreal. They lacked definition, as if he could push at them with his fingers and they would ripple and dissolve. He giggled in a slightly mad way, and then reprimanded himself. He had to at least pretend to be strong. He swallowed convulsively, and the action somehow recharged the taste lingering in his mouth. The taste of Blaine. Tears sprung to his eyes once more, but he dashed them away. _Oh god, keep it together, Kurt_.

He managed somehow to find his way to his day locker, where he deposited his things and picked up his books for AP French. And then he managed to find his way to class, one foot in front of the other, step by step, legs feeling out of joint, arms stiff by his side, face numb and clenched in a pitiful semblance of a smile. He sat down at his desk and stared off into the space above the teacher's head, trying to look attentive and like he wasn't shattering to pieces all over the floor.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" Wes's voice seemed to float into his vision from the side. He wondered vaguely how a voice could float, unable to focus on the content of the question. "Kurt!"

Kurt jumped in his seat and turned to Wes, who was eyeing him with concern. "Are you okay? You've been absolutely still for the last ten minutes." he whispered.

Kurt laughed, a tad hysterically. "Oh, I'm just great, Wes. Having a very weird day, is all."

Wes's eyes widened, the concern stretching his mouth into an oval. "You sound really strange. And you look like someone just burned all your bowties. Did something happen?"

"Did something happen?" repeated Kurt, and he was definitely hysterical now, his voice reaching unheard of pitches. Wes flinched and nodded encouragingly, if cautiously, one eye on the teacher, who was hunched over another student in the opposite corner of the room.

"Did something happen," Kurt repeated, muttering this time. "I have no idea if something happened, Wes. How do you tell if something happened? I mean, a boy jerks off in your lap and then runs away crying. Is that something?"

"What?" Wes practically shrieked.

The teacher's head came up sharply. "Mr. Montgomery, is there a problem?"

Wes faced forward and said, "No problem, Miss March." He could see Kurt out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be muttering under his breath. It was a little scary, truth be told. "Um, Miss March, may I have a word?"

She nodded, and he rose from his seat and drew her nearer to the door, away from the ears of the other students. "Miss March, I know this is highly irregular, but I want to ask you to excuse Kurt and me from class. I believe he is having some sort of crisis, and as head council member of the Warblers it is my duty to see him through it. As you can see, he isn't really of much use right now." He concluded his fairly pompous speech with a gesture towards Kurt, who was scowling fiercely at the tip of his right index finger. Miss March followed his gesture with her eyes and raised an eyebrow at Kurt's uncharacteristic behavior. When she turned back to Wes he smiled hopefully at her.

"Mr. Hummel," she called out. "Please go with Mr. Montgomery. The two of you are dismissed from class today." Then she turned away, effectively wiping her hands clean of the situation.

Kurt looked up at Wes, a questioning expression on his face. Wes smiled reassuringly and gestured towards the door. Kurt gathered his things and followed him out of the classroom. Wes led the way to an empty commons, closed the door and turned to face Kurt, who was standing in the middle of the room looking entirely lost.

"You're acting more than a little crazy," Wes began. "And I don't even know what you meant by…well, I didn't think you'd want to be talking about…under normal circumstances, I mean…" Wes was floundering because Kurt was just staring blankly at him, like he hadn't been muttering about sex and crying just five minutes ago in the middle of French class.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked kindly.

Kurt frantically shook his head no, then abruptly burst into tears and began nodding just as frantically. "I'm so confused, Wes. I don't even know how it happened. It just…and then…why would he…I don't…"

"Breathe, Kurt. Try to calm down and tell me, in short, declarative sentences, what exactly happened," said Wes, reverting to instructive, authoritarian mode like he often did when faced with genuine (frightening) emotion.

"I was having a picnic. He joined me. He fell asleep on my lap. He started…" Kurt raised his eyes to Wes helplessly, his mouth gaping as he tried to get words out.

"He?" asked Wes, even though he was sure he knew the answer.

"Blaine," gasped Kurt, managing to sound both enamored and disturbed at the same time.

"Go on," said Wes, not feeling really vindicated, and more than a little worried where this story was going. Blaine had always been…volatile, to say the least.

"He was sleeping. He touched himself while…while he was sleeping. Then he woke up and…and…oh my god, oh my god…" Kurt began hyperventilating again.

"Breathe. Short, declarative sentences."

"He woke up. He said he was sorry. I said it was okay. I…" Kurt drew a deep breath and seemed to find some hidden reserve to keep going. "I told him to continue. I told him what to do. He jerked himself off. On my lap. In front of me. Oh god." The reserve was apparently depleted. But maybe not. "It was amazing. But then he was crying. And then he ran away." Kurt shrugged his shoulders helplessly, his eyes gleaming. "I don't understand, Wes."

"That is odd," agreed Wes. "As far as I know, Blaine doesn't usually cry after sex."

"Sex! That wasn't! What?" Kurt was in full-on panic mode.

Wes smiled indulgently at him. "Common misconception. It's amusing when it's David who thinks that way, but you should know better, Kurt. Nothing needs to be inserted or even touched for it to be sex. You wouldn't be reacting this way if it wasn't."

"Oh, that's just great," said Kurt, slightly waspishly. "So you're telling me that I've had sex with Blaine before I've even kissed him? That's insane."

"You didn't kiss?" asked Wes thoughtfully.

"No," replied Kurt sadly. "Wait, you said… How does he usually act after, um...?"

"Bouncy and supremely confident. Kind of like when he performs," said Wes succinctly.

"Have you ever…" Kurt let the question trail off, uncertain he wanted to know the answer.

"No. But I've been around him enough to know how he usually behaves. That is, the way he used to behave."

"Used to?"

Wes sighed. "Surely you've heard rumors about the way Blaine used to…throw himself around," he said.

"But that's just…I mean, I know he's had, um, sex, but the rumors are just…"

"Mostly true," Wes finished for him, searching his face for a reaction.

"Oh," said Kurt softly. "And then, he was happy, but with me, he…" Tears sprung to Kurt's eyes again.

"He acted happy, Kurt, which is not the same as being happy. Blaine is a consummate performer, good enough to fool even himself. But he…" Wes paused for a second, wondering at what he was about to do. He knew all about Blaine's sudden transformation, and all of the harsh realizations that had come with it. He knew about Blaine's instant admiration for Kurt, and how that admiration led him to examine himself more closely, and how that same admiration had slowly deepened into love. Telling Kurt would help him understand, but he realized that this was too much – he couldn't betray Blaine's confidence in this way, even if it would be for the good of both these melodramatic idiots. Wes allowed himself an internal eye-roll before continuing. "You need to talk to him, Kurt. You need to ask him why he cried."

"He ran away from me, Wes. How can I just…"

"You just have to try, Kurt. And it's probably going to be difficult. Blaine will undoubtedly try to avoid it. Don't let him." There, that was the best he could do. It was encouraging without betraying what he knew. Wes felt a headache coming on. All these emotions were exhausting. Better to have an uncomplicated, if slightly unorthodox, bromance like with David. Then he snorted at his own hypocrisy – he'd been trying his best to complicate _that_ recently.

"What was that for?" asked Kurt, obviously reacting to the indelicate noise that had erupted from Wes's nose.

"Nothing to do with you," Wes assured him. Then an idea struck him, and he decided to see where it would lead. "Just thinking about all the ways I've been trying to get into David's pants recently."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. "But you…you're straight. Aren't you?"

"Hmmm. More or less. It's one of the stranger things about attending an all-boys school. Being straight doesn't preclude certain…activities. If it did, Blaine wouldn't have gotten around nearly as much as he has." _Take the hint, Kurt. See how messed up that is_, Wes urged even though his words came out nonchalantly.

"But…" Kurt seemed to be thinking hard, yet still coming up empty.

"Do you think it's what you do that makes you gay?" asked Wes innocently. "You specifically? Because until today, I gather you hadn't done much of anything."

"I didn't actually _do_ anything," muttered Kurt a bit mutinously.

"Really?" Wes arched an eloquent eyebrow. "You sat, you instructed, you watched, and if your comment about how amazing it was is true, you enjoyed… There does seem to be something missing in all that, though."

"What?" asked Kurt earnestly.

"I think I'm going to let you figure that out for yourself. But I have to ask you, does it bother you? What Blaine has done?"

"You mean before?"

"Yes."

Kurt seemed to be thinking hard again. "I don't know. It just…doesn't seem like Blaine. Like he was a different person or something. It's strange. The things I've heard…"

"You keep saying that, like you're afraid of the specifics. I could tell you a lot. For example, there's Francis, who would occasionally drag Blaine off to his dorm and fuck him so hard that he couldn't sit for the next few days. He's straight, by the way, and from what I gather he didn't bother with the niceties of gay sex. And Blaine never refused him, even though it obviously hurt. But a few months ago, he did. They actually got into a fight because Francis didn't understand why his fucktoy was suddenly so unwilling. Does that bother you, Kurt?" Wes knew he was being harsh, but he wanted Kurt to get it.

"Why did he stop?" Kurt asked, his eyes suddenly bright and focused intently on Wes. Wes smirked. Finally.

"Ask him."

Kurt nodded slowly. "Thanks, Wes."

"Any time. Wait, no, not really. Please get this sorted. It gives me a headache watching the two of you circle each other."

"Aw, Wes, it's so sweet to know you care," teased Kurt, suddenly, and wonderfully, in a better mood.

"As if. I just can't have my lead soloist acting like a hyperactive hyena, which he will be, by the way, while my only countertenor does bad impressions of a homeless schizophrenic."

"I smell far too good to be homeless," said Kurt loftily. Then he cast an appraising eye over Wes. "You're full of surprises, you know that? This thing you have with David, it's not like that, is it?"

"Oh, Kurt. You're pushing it. I've obviously been far too indulgent with you," smirked Wes. The end of period bell rang out suddenly. "And would you look at that? Timing couldn't be more perfect. I'll see you at practice." Wes wiggled his fingers at Kurt in a teasing good-bye and strode towards the door. As a parting shot, he said, "Be prepared. Blaine is going to rampage through practice like a bubbly tornado, tearing into the furniture and generally causing merry havoc. You're going to have a hard time pining him down."

**AN: This might actually be turning into a story, instead of just a slightly pervy, angty two-shot. What do you think? Continue?**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Boys are silly. That's all. Except for Wes. Wes is omniscient and omnipotent, and his gavel has special powers. **

Kurt was thinking hard. So hard that he sat through the rest of his classes that day with his brow furrowed, which normally would never happen because – _Hello, wrinkles!_ But he didn't even notice. He was all internal today, ignoring his teachers and the students around him, letting his feet drag him to classes, occasionally bumping into things and people and ricocheting off without even noticing. He was thinking about Blaine and sex, which obviously wasn't an entirely new subject for him to be thinking about, but he was thinking about it in a larger fashion. More globally, if you will. Since he'd come to Dalton, he'd alternately been shocked, amused and admiring of the way sex in general was viewed here. There was a strange unconcern that he almost instantly attributed to wealth combined with the isolating, yet somehow freeing environment of an all-boys school. There was no way any of his male friends at McKinley would describe themselves as 'more or less' straight as nonchalantly as Wes had, let alone partake of 'certain activities'. He admired that point of view, but it seemed there might be a flip side as well. And on that flip side lay Blaine. Did it bother him? Yes, it most definitely did. But not how he would have thought, if he wasn't intimately involved with the boy in question. He didn't think what Blaine had done in his past was in any way wrong, in and of itself. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that it had had a negative effect on him. And that story. Francis. Kurt's brow furrowed even deeper, and he felt a wave of anger rush through him that was so strong it almost dragged him from his thoughts. He vaguely knew the boy, and up until Wes's little story, had thought he was nice enough, if uninteresting. But he had used Blaine, as Wes so eloquently put it, as a fucktoy, and more importantly, Blaine had let him. Kurt's mind reeled away from that for a moment, not wanting to understand, but he forced himself to think about it, to relate it to himself. He'd always assumed that Blaine's experiences had been ideal. But being used by a straight boy was anything but ideal; it was the very definition of corrupt. _Francis_. Kurt felt the venom in his inner voice. He realized suddenly he hated that boy.

What if something similar had happened with Finn? What if, knowing that Kurt was interested, Finn had had no problem taking advantage of his crush and rubbing one off with the aid of a warm, willing body? Would Kurt have let that happen? He gagged slightly, the idea of it making him feel a little sick. But that was now, with all the history between them and Finn now a brother and a friend. What if, while he was innocently, if a bit creepily, throwing himself at Finn, Finn had reacted that way? He knew, by now, that you couldn't will someone to be gay, but he was also aware that people sometimes behaved in ways that didn't always line up with conventional definitions of sexuality. It was plausible. He went back, trying to recapture his mindset then. Would he have? He had to be truthful with himself; the answer was probably yes. And how would it have made him feel? His mind flashed back to this afternoon, and the heady sense of power he'd felt with Blaine's body working in his lap. He would have felt that, he was sure, but he would also have felt wrong because it wouldn't have had the same meaning for Finn as it had for him. It wouldn't be an affirmation of who he was, just a pale imitation. He'd feel powerful and degraded. Invincible and insignificant. Ugh. Sex was so confusing.

Blaine let himself be treated that way. Repeatedly. He'd let himself be approached with careless lust, instead of with the awe and reverence he deserved. Why would he keep letting that happen? Kurt was sure he would probably make a similar mistake once, maybe twice, but he knew himself well enough to know that he would have never let it continue. The Blaine he knew was strong, confident in himself and his sexuality…but what if that wasn't really true? And then came the most horrifying realization: what if Blaine was so damaged by his experiences that he thought he deserved to be treated that way? And what if that's how he thought Kurt had treated him? Had he?

Kurt stopped short in the middle of a hallway he'd been aimlessly walking down, bodies bumping into him. He felt like his insides had turned to ice. No, no, no! He would never treat Blaine that way. He loved him. He practically worshiped him, his kindness, his beauty, his talent, his enthusiasm. He would never… Kurt forced himself back to that afternoon again, trying to look at it objectively, and he realized that he had, even if he hadn't meant it that way. Not once had he touched Blaine kindly or looked at him tenderly or kissed him or assured him he was beautiful – he had ignored the voices telling him to do those things because he thought that he should act a certain way. And that's when Kurt realized that he had been acting that way because of his assumptions about Blaine's experience. A wave of anger passed through him once again, but now it was directed at himself. He had treated his best friend, the boy he loved, like a cheap whore, and he hadn't even realized he was doing it. But then his anger flared again, this time directed at Blaine. _Why would he let __**me,**__ of all people, treat him like that?_ _Why didn't he stop me? Why didn't he say something?_

He was missing something. He could feel it, nagging at the back of his thoughts but skittering away when he tried to focus on it. Kurt took a deep breath and dragged himself out of his head, desperate for a little respite. He was standing in a now empty corridor, probably hopelessly late for his next class. He glanced at his phone for the time. Definitely late. There was no point in going now, and it was his last class of the day, so Kurt decided he would go sit quietly in the choir room until practice started. He needed to calm down and look at all of this from a distance, but he just felt so close to it. Too close. He sighed and made his way to the Warblers room.

It was blessedly empty when he got there, and he sank down into one of the couches, not even caring that his posture was less than perfect. What was missing? Blaine had lots of sex, and was outwardly happy. Then he stopped, and as far as Kurt knew, hadn't done anything with another boy in all the time he'd known him. That had ended today, and it had made him unhappy. Kurt sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It just kept coming back to the fact that he, Kurt, had made Blaine unhappy. And to the underlying question – why had Blaine stopped in the first place? It just kept going in circles, and Kurt could feel himself getting more and more insane, the happy acceptance Wes had engendered in him earlier completely gone. He was burying himself in a hole of worry and anxiety, and nothing made sense in the end. He was exhausted.

He curled his legs up into his chest, leaning against the arm of the couch, and closed his eyes. The smooth lines of Blaine's naked body blossomed in his mind, soft and golden in the spring sunshine. He felt his awe and love and disbelief wash over him again, and in his mind's eye he saw himself succumbing to those feelings, telling Blaine how perfect and precious he was to him, stroking his cheek, his chest, leaning down to kiss him, to breath in his orgasm as he came. Could it really be as simple as that, or was Kurt just wishing it so?

He felt a presence in the room, heard a vague shuffling, and without even opening his eyes, he knew who it was. A spike of fear thrilled through his chest, and he kept his eyes shut until it passed. When he opened them slowly, he saw Blaine perched precariously on the arm of a stuffed chair directly opposite him, one leg clutched to his chest, the other outstretched and jumping spastically, his fingers drumming against each other over his knee, an awkward smile on his face that didn't crinkle the corners of his sad eyes. He was the perfect image of restrained, nervous energy. Blaine noticed that Kurt's eyes were open, and Kurt watched in horrified awe as the expression on his face changed from pained contemplation to an almost perfect approximation of cheerful greeting. But his now wide, inviting smile still didn't reach his eyes. Kurt felt a strange wave of relief pass through him – there were cracks in the performance. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to break through them.

"Why?" Kurt asked simply, uncurling his legs and sitting up straight.

Blaine cocked his head to the side, confusion painting his face, trying to mask the understanding in his eyes. He shrugged. "Look, Kurt," he began in an even, friendly voice, "I know this is awkward, but maybe we should just forget about it. What happened was just – "

"No," said Kurt forcefully. He stood up and began walking towards Blaine, who leaped from his perch and took a few hasty steps backwards. Kurt felt a wave of annoyance and irritation sweep through him, and he let it pour through into his voice. "Going to run away from me again?"

Blaine froze. Anger and hurt flashed across his eyes and he replied icily, "I don't have to. Practice is about to start." He made a weird slashing gesture with his arm across his body and added, "Just leave it, Kurt."

The venom in his voice stopped Kurt's forward movement, even causing him to stumble backwards a step. Just then the door opened, and the first of the Warblers began to enter the room. "We're not done," said Kurt in a low voice, full of promise.

Blaine gave him one last look, full of practiced disdain that would have terrified Kurt if he couldn't see that it was an act, and bounded away from him to perch on some more furniture. Kurt settled back into his couch, his eyes never leaving Blaine as the other boy began chatting animatedly with Nick. Kurt narrowed his eyes. Blaine's arms moved too quickly, too jerkily, and his smile was so brilliantly wide it made Kurt's cheeks hurt. He cackled at something Nick said and Kurt thought, _Hysterical hyena, indeed._ This was going to be harder than he thought.

Wes waltzed into the room, gavel swinging lightly in his hand, accompanied by David. Kurt jumped up from the couch and walked over to him.

"Wes, I need your help. A favor, really," he said briskly, giving David a bit of a side-eye. David seemed to take the hint and wandered away from them towards the council table. Wes raised an eyebrow at Kurt so he continued, "Can I stay in your dorm tonight? I need to corner him," – he jerked his head backwards towards Blaine, who was demonstrating his spinning-then-up-onto-his-tiptoes move to Nick – "and I can't do that while school's in session. He'll just wiggle away."

"I approve of the advanced plotting," replied Wes, tapping the gavel gently into his left palm. "Do you just need a place to crash or is there anything else?"

"Just that, so I can tell my dad where I am," Kurt said, relieved.

"Will you actually be staying in my room, or do you have other plans?"

Kurt laughed harshly. "This is a mess. I have no idea what's going to happen. But I'm fairly sure that the last thing Blaine needs is for me to try to seduce him."

"Maybe," said Wes, nodding thoughtfully. "But you shouldn't discount more physical means of persuasion if he proves stubborn. Just tread carefully."

"I will. Thanks again, Wes. I'm going to step outside and call my dad. If he calls you, will you tell him we're studying together?"

"You're asking me to lie to a parent? I'm scandalized," snarked Wes, and then he sauntered off to join David.

Kurt rolled his eyes, smiled slightly, and then glanced over at Blaine, whose eyes were trained on him. Blaine whipped his head away and nearly fell into Jeff. Kurt smiled more brightly and left the room to call his father.

* * *

><p>Warblers practice had been hectic. Blaine's energy levels were off the charts – not a single piece of furniture went untouched by the soles of his shoes, and he kept dragging random Warblers out of formation and spinning them off into various corners of the room. When they were discussing future performances, Blaine voiced his opinions articulately, his voice exploding with charm, and he somehow managed to convince his fellow Warblers that they should make minor sartorial changes that would normally have been met with incensed outrage. Kurt felt exhausted just watching him, but the rest of the Warblers were swept away by his boundless energy, with the exception of Wes, who just looked indulgent and every once in a while met Kurt's gaze, raised his brows and then ostentatiously rolled his eyes. Blaine noted one of these silent exchanges towards the end of practice, and literally stopped short, glancing between the two of them suspiciously. Both Kurt and Wes turned wide, innocent smiles on him that made him blink and scowl slightly before he remembered himself and went back to wooing the entire world. If it wasn't so desperate, Kurt would have found it amusing.<p>

When Wes tapped his gavel to signal the end of practice, Blaine skipped from the room without so much as a backwards glance. Kurt sighed and stalked up to the council table, where Wes was putting away sheet music while talking quietly with David. Thad had already wandered off.

"Hey," said Kurt. "So I know dinner lasts until eight, but he usually works in his room afterwards, right?"

"Usually."

"I want to stay out of sight until then. I don't want him to know I'm around. He might change his routine."

"You can come to our room. I'll even swipe you something from the dining hall," replied Wes.

"Ugh. I don't think I can eat. I'm so wound up," said Kurt.

"Um, guys?" said David. "What's going on?"

"Blaine is falling back into old habits, and Kurt is staging an intervention," said Wes in a pompous voice.

"That is an extremely depressing way to put it, Wes," objected Kurt. And then it really struck him what Wes had just said. "Wait, you don't really think he'll…" He trailed off, horrified.

Wes shrugged. "If you don't fix things between the two of you, he very well may. He was spinning out of control today."

"Seriously, guys, _what_ is going on," whined David.

Wes just shushed him and patted his knee. "I'll explain later, David. Kurt, I'm going to do you another favor, and you're going to worship me and my gavel for it until the day you die, understand? I'm going to subject myself to the bubbly insanity that is Blaine right now; I'm going to stick to him and make sure he doesn't run off and do something stupid before you can get to him. In fact, I'm going to find him right now," he said, getting up. "For all I know, he's already dragging Jeff off into a janitor's closet again. I so don't need a repeat of that. Tell me I'm a god, Kurt."

"You're a god, Wes. Of what, I'm not sure, but you're definitely a god," replied Kurt in an annoyed yet grateful voice. "Jeff? Really?"

"Mmm-hmm," said Wes as he walked towards the door. "The aftermath was really annoying. Jeff followed him around like a puppy dog for a month while Blaine blithely ignored him. It was extremely disruptive to practice. David? Will you take Kurt to our room?"

"I still don't understand what's going on," whined David insistently.

"Gay things," replied Wes. "Very, very gay things. So gay I think I might have to break into my new porn collection. We'll wait until you're talking to Blaine though, Kurt. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested." And then Wes was gone.

David looked at Kurt. Kurt looked at David. Kurt repressed the desire to laugh when David muttered, "His new collection sucks."

**AN: I'm such a tease. What do you think, should Wes continue in his unending streak of awesomeness or should he fail in watching over Blaine? I'm writing Blaine's POV of all this as we speak, but that little bit has yet to be decided. **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: And here it is, Blaine's POV, right from the Olympic worthy run he took. And if I've left you with the image of a line of Olympic athletes running in come-stained clothing, well that's just dandy. Send me presents. And by that I mean reviews. Or Wes because I really, really want to meet him. **

Blaine was a mess. He ran from Kurt, clutching his clothing loosely to his body, until he reached a small copse of quaking aspens on the farthest side of Dalton's grounds. He stepped into the shelter they provided, and looked down at himself. His chest was still covered in his own semen, and some of it had rubbed off onto the hem of his shirt and the top of his trousers as he ran. A disgusting mess. He couldn't let anyone see him like this. He picked up a few leaves from the ground, some still a shimmering green-blue, others a brilliant yellow, and hastily wiped at the larger drips on his chest. The wet mess of leaves didn't leave him feeling any cleaner, but at least he wouldn't have come stains all over his shirt now. He roughly scrubbed at his chest with his open palms, using the friction to dry himself off as much as possible, and then began buttoning his shirt. He made himself presentable, grateful that his blazer covered up the worst evidence. Still, he would have to go change before he went to class. His hand drifted to his face, and he felt the wetness that was still there, amazed that it hadn't been blown off by the breeze when he ran. But then he realized that he was still crying, and it made more sense. That wouldn't do at all.

He wouldn't allow himself to be sad about this. It was a useless emotion, after all. What good could it possibly do him to moan and weep over that twisted little scene he'd had today with Kurt? It wouldn't change anything: it wouldn't make him better, or cleaner; it wouldn't make Kurt love him. The sadness swelled at that thought, and he realized that he wasn't going to be able talk himself out of it. But he could cover it up. He was good at that. He'd had far more practice in his life acting like he was happy than actually being happy. The trick was to let it all out when no one else was looking. To let it swell and fester inside all day long and then release it into the dark. There was another way, of course. He could smother it with sex again. He felt a pang at that thought, a yearning for the feeling of surety he'd had just this morning before…before he'd ruined everything. Before he'd realized that he would never escape what he was. Maybe he should just embrace it again, lose himself in someone else. It had always worked before. But maybe now it wouldn't, maybe after all these months of loving Kurt and feeling hopeful and happy and right, all it would do is remind him that he had been so very wrong, about himself and Kurt. He shook his head as he finished brushing himself off. He'd think about it later. Right now he had to go shower and put on his latest performance.

* * *

><p>Blaine emerged from his room, as put together as he could possibly be. He'd missed all of his afternoon classes, but he wasn't worried. He'd go talk to the teachers tomorrow; he was confident in his ability to charm his way out of punishment. Anyway, it wasn't important right now. Right now he had to put on a show. He'd realized when he was in the shower that his most important audience was, of course, Kurt. Still Kurt. Who now probably not only thought he was a whore, but a weepy, pitiful one at that. He had to show him he wasn't bothered. That it had been an aberration. That he was still gentlemanly, charming, confident Blaine, regardless of how worthless and wrong he felt on the inside. He felt a momentary twinge of something that resembled anger, though it was weirdly muted, at the thought that he had to act for Kurt. He'd never had to before. He repressed a sudden, irrational thought that this was all Kurt's fault. That was ridiculous. It was obviously Blaine's fault, and he'd have to deal with the fallout. Smooth it over; try to pretend it never happened.<p>

He made his way to the choir room, feeling strangely brittle. He wanted to get there early, before anyone else, so he had time to prepare himself. Who was he kidding? It wasn't 'anyone else'; it was Kurt he had to prepare for. But luck was apparently not on his side today, if that wasn't already horribly obvious, because when he walked into the choir room, there was Kurt, curled up on one of the couches with a small smile on his face. _What does he have to smile about?_ thought Blaine, that bizarre anger surging up yet again. He suppressed it and tiptoed his way over to a chair opposite Kurt. He sat on the arm and looked down at the boy across from him. So beautiful. The sadness returned, and of course that was the moment Kurt had to open his eyes. Nervous, feeling incredibly jerky and unstable, Blaine quickly schooled his features into a friendly expression.

"Why?" said Kurt, and Blaine felt like he was slipping off a cliff into empty air. That simple question could mean so many things. Too many things.

He forced his voice to remain neutral, fixed that friendly, open smile onto his face and said, "I know this is awkward, but maybe we should just forget about it. What happened was just – "

"No," said Kurt, not letting him finish his bland little speech. And then suddenly Kurt was standing and moving towards him. Blaine panicked – _too close!_ – and practically fell off the chair as he moved away. Obviously, this was not going to be easy. He felt a sudden need for other people to come so that he could shelter behind them, perform for them, and then Kurt said, "Going to run away from me again?" His voice was scathing, dismissive – _the voice you use with a reluctant whore_ – and Blaine again felt his insides flare with that unaccountable anger.

"I don't have to. Practice is about to start," he said, letting the anger fill him. It felt strangely good, but he couldn't let it get away from him. He'd lose control if he did. He pushed it away, his hand joining in on the effort, moving swiftly out and away from his body, and said, "Just leave it, Kurt."

Kurt took a step backwards. _Thank god!_ But then he looked at Blaine appraisingly and said, "We're not done."

Blaine was terrified of the promise in Kurt's voice. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew that he had to escape it. He'd gone about this all wrong. He couldn't be anywhere near Kurt right now, or all his emotions were going to spill out. But there were other people here now, wonderful other people who were not Kurt, who wouldn't make him feel this much, this badly. He had to make Kurt leave him alone. He attempted a scathing look at Kurt as he twirled away from him towards Nick. Hopefully it would be enough.

Blaine was practically throwing himself at Nick, who seemed a little confused by the attention, but that didn't stop him from noticing that Kurt and Wes were having a conversation that seemed, from the gesture Kurt made in his direction, to be about him. Blaine blanched. Wes knew everything. What if he told Kurt? Blaine suddenly felt very possessive of his own emotions. They were his. Not to be shared with Kurt. Not after the way he'd treated him today. And underlying that possessiveness there was, of course, fear. Fear that knowing wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference to Kurt. Blaine pushed that fear down as far as he could, because he knew that that kind of fear was really only hope disguised, and he was done with hoping for Kurt. Kurt turned away from Wes and walked towards the door. Where was he going? Suddenly Kurt caught Blaine's gaze and smiled. Blaine spun around and promptly fell into Jeff. _Jeff_. Now there was a thought.

Blaine focused himself on the blond Warbler, quirking his lips into a small, secret smile and dragging his eyes over the boy's face slowly. "Hi there, Jeff."

"Hi?" said Jeff slightly nervously.

Blaine raked his eyes further down the boy's body and purred, "Hmmm. How've you been, Jeff?" He was now staring openly at Jeff's crotch and part of him realized that this was a truly pitiful, blatant attempt, but it had been so long since he'd _intentionally_ flirted with someone. He ignored the other part that was telling him that his heart wasn't really in it, and glanced back at the boy's face, gratified to see him wide-eyed and swallowing nervously. "I've been thinking," he began, but he was cut off by Nick, who grabbed Jeff by the hand and dragged him to the other side of the room. What was that about? Blaine shrugged. He'd find Jeff later.

He started, realizing he seemed to have come to a decision on this after all. He was going to do this again. _I might as well_, he thought. _There's nothing else for me. And it will make me feel better. For a while anyway. _

And with that thought held close, he focused his energy outward, keen on maintaining his exuberant façade for the rest of practice. Practice was soon over, and he was very proud of his performance – he'd never been so charming, so convincing, so obviously adored by all (with the exception of Wes, who had always seen through him, and Kurt, but he didn't matter anymore, regardless of how he stared at him with a sour expression on his face the entire time. And what was that look that passed between the two of them? No matter!), and he was sure that he'd have distraction enough in the coming days to help him get over all this disappointment and anger and pain that had settled in his chest. Get over it, or cover it up. Either way.

He bounced out of practice as soon as Wes's gavel hit the table, already making plans to corner Jeff. He slipped into a nearby empty classroom, left the door slightly ajar, and waited as the rest of the Warblers slowly drifted out. He didn't see any sign of Kurt or Wes, and he gritted his teeth at the thought of them talking about him. Eventually Jeff straggled out, accompanied by Nick, who was looking slightly queasy. Blaine stepped out of the classroom, and said, "Jeff? Can I have a word?" He gestured towards the empty classroom and smiled invitingly.

Jeff spun towards him, but it wasn't him who responded. It was Nick. "A word, Blaine? Really?" He sounded incredulous, and also a bit hurt. Strange.

Blaine shrugged it off and replied teasingly, "I can have a word with you too, Nick, if you'd like."

Nick just sputtered at him, while Jeff blushed furiously. Blaine winked at him, and he ducked his head, reaching out his hand and grabbing onto Nick's. Oh. Well, he could work with that.

"I could have a word with both of you," he suggested, well, suggestively. "Just come in – "

"Jeff! Nick! Don't you have somewhere to be?" Wes interrupted, striding up to the three of them. Blaine scowled at him, and Wes actually had the audacity to laugh in his face while shooing the other two boys away. They scampered off, Nick looking relieved and Jeff still completely red in the face.

"What was that, Wes?" Blaine asked.

Wes looked him up and down. "What are you doing, Blaine?"

"None of your business, Wes," replied Blaine scathingly.

"Actually, I'm going to have to disagree with that, as you seemed fairly intent on traumatizing two of my Warblers."

"Traumatizing? Hardly."

"Are you really that unobservant, Blaine? I'll lay it out for you: last year you jumped Jeff, thereby introducing him to the wonders of boy-sex and making him come to some rather startling, to himself at any rate, conclusions about his own sexuality. He then proceeded to pine after you, totally ignoring Nick, who had been hopelessly pining after him for years. It was all very emotional and disgusting, and totally disruptive. And you didn't notice at all, because you had moved on to whoever was your next conquest. Eventually, Jeff realized that he wouldn't be skipping down any beaches at sunset with you, and Nick became a viable option. But he was a second choice, Blaine. They've grown over and beyond that, and are actually a fairly stable, happy couple, but both of them remember that. So, is it clearer to you now? Did I explain it sufficiently?"

"I…I didn't know," said Blaine lamely. Oh great, there was that rolling wave of shame again. Fuck.

"So I take it you're up to your old tricks?" Wes asked casually, drawing Blaine away from the door and along the hallway.

Blaine scowled at him again.

"Oh my, what a face! Do you object to my word choice? I thought it was rather apt," said Wes cheerfully, tightening his hold on Blaine's arm.

"What the fuck, Wes?" Blaine practically shouted.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain incident at lunchtime, would it?" Wes asked just as cheerfully, totally ignoring Blaine's raised voice and continuing to drag him down the hall.

Blaine began struggling against his grip, found he couldn't break it easily, and resigned himself to being dragged wherever Wes wanted to take him. It was actually Blaine's default position with Wes – Wes always got what he wanted. "He ran to you about that?" he asked, trying to make his voice as disdainful as possible.

"Oh, of course! You know me and Kurt! Busom buddies! He just couldn't contain his joy and skipped his way to me, bubbling with excitement to tell me all about how wonderful it was to have you jerk off in his lap and then run away crying like a little bitch. He's just so happy."

"Your sarcasm is actually physically revolting, you know that, Wes? And totally unnecessary. It was a stupid mistake, and it won't happen again."

"No, you'll just throw yourself into the path of every other boy in this school, right?"

"It's not your business, Wes," Blaine was shouting again.

"Oh, well. I was just wondering because I thought maybe I'd have a go this time around. Just don't tell David, okay? I wouldn't want him to think you were endangering our bromance. Of course, you and I know it'll just be meaningless sex, but he can be so hopelessly clueless sometimes." Wes's voice was so chipper and enthusiastic that Blaine shuddered.

"I – Wes, you're my friend. I can't," he stuttered.

"Oh, come on now, Blaine, why so shy?" replied Wes, turning the corner to the hallway that led to Blaine's dorm room. "I'm ridiculously hot, and if you've decided to let the past few months go up in smoke, I think I deserve an orgasm for putting up with all your whining about your feelings and how special and loved Kurt made you feel."

Tears leapt to Blaine's eyes, and he began struggling against Wes's grip again. Wes didn't let go, and very soon they were standing in front of Blaine's door. Wes tapped the door lightly with his knuckle and said, "Come on then, Blaine. Open up, quickly now, so I can fuck you. I've got other things to do, you know."

"Wes," Blaine was sobbing now, "why are you doing this?"

"Oh dear, are you crying?" The chipper tone was gone. It had been replaced with Wes's signature, biting sarcasm. "I thought this was what you wanted, Blaine. Hmmm?" Then he sighed ostentatiously. "If you're not going to open it, I'm going to reach into your pocket and get the key. Maybe I'll grope you a bit on the way. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Blaine finally succeeded in ripping his arm out of Wes's grasp. But Wes just grabbed it again, pulling Blaine in front of him and reaching around into his front pocket. He pulled out the key without, it must be noted, groping Blaine. He turned it in the lock and pushed a sobbing Blaine into the room ahead of him.

"What- what are you doing?" Blaine practically wailed.

Wes contemplated him for a moment, deciding to relent. "I'm multitasking," he said.

"Multitasking?" Blaine was so confused by this bizarre answer that he stopped sobbing momentarily.

"Oh yes. I'm a god of multitasking. I really should tell Kurt that; he'd be glad to know how to classify me. And then he could build an appropriate shrine in my honor."

Blaine just stared at him, incredulous. Then he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. He realized suddenly that Wes had a point; he was doing all this for a reason, not to torment him. Well, not _just_ to torment him. "What tasks are you engaged in right now?" he asked cautiously, amazed at how calm he suddenly felt.

"Well, I'm babysitting you for Kurt, which is quite a lot of work. And I'm also trying to convince you that you don't actually want to be treated like a whore. There's some other stuff going on in this brilliant head as well, and it is very likely I will have solved 'P versus NP' by the time I get to dinner, but the first two are the most important for your situation."

"So you're not serious," said Blaine quickly. "You weren't really going to…"

"Actually, Blaine, seeing as how I haven't convinced you yet, I may just have to continue. It's kind of a chore, but I don't really like unfinished business." Wes took a step towards Blaine, and Blaine shot up off the bed and moved away from him.

"Don't you think Kurt would be upset with you?" he asked desperately.

Wes grinned ferociously. "Now, Blaine, why would Kurt be upset? It's not like he has feelings for you, is it?" And the sarcasm was back in full force.

"No! It isn't!" Blaine screamed at him. "And you know I don't want to be treated that way, so just stop it, Wes! Stop it!"

Wes stepped back, watching Blaine fall apart in front of him. He sighed. "Well, that's good to know, at least. Just because you think things with Kurt are not the way you want them to be, doesn't mean you need to revert. And I think you know that things aren't actually all that bad." He made his voice as calm and reassuring as he could, certain that Blaine's walls were down far enough for him to actually listen. Ugh. This was just too much work.

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked.

"Okay, Blaine, you're not an idiot. You're acting like one, that's true, but you really aren't. Has Kurt ever given you any indication that he thinks poorly of you? Have you ever known him to be intentionally cruel?"

"But today…"

"Today was confusing for him. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before, and he didn't know how to react. So he picked a certain way, and it was definitely the wrong way, but he didn't know that. You need to realize that, and you need to stop acting like a hysterical bitch and talk to him. I get that you're all messed up over the fact that it wasn't perfectly romantic, but I would like to think that Kurt is more important to you than some idealized fantasy of how things are supposed to be between you."

"He is, Wes," said Blaine softly. "But it's just so painful to know that he doesn't love me like I thought. It's kinda driving me crazy."

"Kinda? And how do you know that he doesn't love you?"

"I just do," replied Blaine petulantly.

"Oh god, I give up!" said Wes, throwing his hands up in the air. "Alright, Blaine, here's how it's going to go. You are going to come down to dinner with me, eat a square meal, and then you are going to come back here to mope or study or jerk off or whatever the hell it is you want to do, but you are not, I repeat NOT going to go off and fuck some random person to make yourself feel better until you and Kurt have THOROUGHLY talked this out. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," said Blaine in a subdued voice.

"Good. Because I have plans for tonight, and I don't really want your little melodrama to fuck them up."

"Plans?"

"Evil plans, Blaine. Evil, completely unromantic plans to get my hand on David's dick by showing him unattractive porn."

"Uh, Wes? I was meaning to talk to you about that," said Blaine tentatively.

"Really? And what were you going to say? Were you going to spout some banal platitudes about being careful not to hurt him?"

"Uh, basically, yes," muttered Blaine.

"Thanks, Blaine, but I think you should leave off on the advice until your personal life doesn't resemble post-Katrina New Orleans. David and I are good. We're better than good, in fact. We just have a sneaky way of operating with each other. But we are both very much aware of what's going on. Satisfied?"

Blaine shrugged. "It just seems to be coming up more often now, and I was wondering…"

"Yeah. No need to wonder, Blaine. There's no drama, no histrionics, no unsaid declarations of love. We're friends, not 'just friends'. Really friends."

"Uh-huh. So is that why you've decided to involve yourself in this thing between Kurt and me? Feels like something's missing?" Blaine was smirking at him now.

"No, Blaine dear. I'm involved because Kurt is a good guy who was freaking out in class today, and you are the most annoying twat I've ever met. Now, what are you going to do this evening after dinner?"

"Um…I think…moping? Yeah, moping sounds good."

"Great. Let's go eat," said Wes, moving towards the door.

"Wes, thanks for earlier," said Blaine tentatively. "I mean, with Jeff and Nick."

"Whatever, Blaine. Just try to hold onto that 'I don't want to be a raging slut' feeling, okay?"

"I'll try."

**AN: And scene! I totally meant to resolve this in this chapter, but Wes took over. He has gained control of my mind and will be writing this story from now on. **


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: You know that awkward feeling when you realize your characters are getting away from you? Yeah, that's where I am. Blaine is, as Wes would say, volatile. I had him all set to be calm and capable of listening to what Kurt had to say, and then responding in kind, but then a plot bunny skipped in front of him and now…now he might trigger anyone who's been subjected to sexual assault, so just…be warned. Okay? And tell me if you need a hug. **

**The reason this fic took an angsty turn in the first place is contained in this chapter. It's the song **_**Blame it on my youth**_**, and it began playing when I was writing what originally was just going to be pure and dirty and wonderfully kinky smut. It made me think of sexual misunderstandings, and here we are. So really, go to the link and play it while Blaine gets his croon on. One version is here: http:/ www .youtube .com /watch?v=5lKB6go2FMU (just take out the spaces) but there are many others. **

* * *

><p>Having escorted Blaine back to his dorm to get his mope on, Wes returned to his own room. He found David already there, and the salad he'd brought for Kurt being desultorily picked at by said boy, who was curled up in Wes's office chair, looking more than a bit like a small and rather forlorn mouse. David was sitting on his bed, a large, rectangular, glaringly lime-green box resting on the bed in front of him. He was drumming it with his fingers as he eyed Kurt, and expression of mingled concern and exasperation on his face. David turned to Wes as he opened the door and said, "He's been like this since I got here. He hasn't said a word."<p>

Wes rolled his eyes. "Too much time alone to think, Kurt?"

Kurt shrugged, not looking at Wes. He speared a tomato with his fork and began dragging it around the plate. Wes strode across the room and sat down on the bed next to David, patting the box and giving him a smile that promised he'd get Kurt out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Blaine's in his room, Kurt, listening to jazz standards and being all maudlin. You should, you know, go," encouraged Wes, making a cute little shooing gesture towards the door.

"What do I say, Wes?" said Kurt suddenly, spinning around in the chair to face the bed.

Wes sighed. "What happened to the proactive, plotting Kurt from this afternoon?"

"He realized that he has no idea what he's doing," replied Kurt a bit snarkily.

"Yes, well, we already knew that. You're going to have to wing it, Kurt. Be open and honest and all that other touchy-feely crap. Don't let Blaine distract you or divert you; get him to talk to you. I have faith in you – you're devious enough to deal with him. Plus, I stole his key, so…" Wes took the key from his pocket and tossed it to Kurt.

Kurt caught it and smirked at him. "You're way too good at this, Wes."

"I'm good at everything, Kurt."

Kurt's smirk widened. "So true. So…what's in the box?"

"Things that don't concern you," replied Wes succinctly, giving the lime-green box an affectionate pat.

"It's the most hideous color I've ever seen," commented Kurt.

"Well, it's what's on the inside that counts, Kurt. Don't be so superficial," chided Wes in a mock-serious tone.

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "Right." He uncurled himself from the chair and stood up. "Well, I'll let you two get on with whatever it is…" He gave a vague gesture that encompassed the bed, both boys and the unsightly box, and then turned towards the door.

"Feel free to take your time," called Wes at his back as the door closed.

* * *

><p>Blaine was bopping, if one could be said to bop in a depressed fashion, around his room, listening and occasionally singing along to the songs pouring out of his speakers. His playlist was comprised of female jazz singers singing their most maudlin, romantically-challenged songs. There had been some Ella, some Billie, some Nina, and now the playlist was venturing into singers who were a bit less well known. Chris Connor's version of <em>Blame It On My Youth<em> began to play, and he sighed contentedly. So fucking apt. He stopped bopping and decided to fully join in on this one, looking out the window as he let his natural vibrato have free rein over the slow, drawn-out vocals, his voice meshing perfectly with Chris's.

_You were my adored one._

_Then you became the bored one._

_And I was like a toy that brought you joy one day._

_A broken toy that you preferred to throw away._

_If I expected love, when first we kissed,_

_Blame it on my youth._

_If only just for you, I did exist,_

_Blame it on my youth._

_I believed in everything,_

_Like a child of three._

_You meant more than anything,_

_All the world to me._

_If you were on my mind all night and day,_

_Blame it on my youth._

_If I forgot to eat and sleep and pray,_

_Blame it on my youth._

_If I cried a little bit,_

_when first I learned the truth._

_Don't blame it on my heart._

_Blame it on my youth._

"That was lovely."

Blaine spun around. Kurt was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, Blaine's key spinning in his long fingers.

"How did you get – "

"Our resident puppet-master," interrupted Kurt, shrugging a little. "And you were so engrossed you didn't even hear me open the door," he added, a bit of a question lingering in his words.

"It seemed appropriate," replied Blaine, shrugging as well and internally marveling at the strange calm that seemed to have blossomed between them. "Did you hear all of it?"

"I did. Though I hardly think it's appropriate."

"How so?" asked Blaine, a sliver of fear breaking through his calm. Ah yes, the proverbial calm before the storm. Of course.

"Can I come in, Blaine? I don't really want to have this conversation in front of a bunch of bored teenage boys," said Kurt, gesturing behind him into the hallway.

Blaine nodded once, abruptly, unable to speak through the fear that had just flashed brighter and deeper in his heart. It was that same fear from earlier, the one that was really hope disguised. He tried to quash it.

Kurt took two steps into the room then turned around, closed the door and locked it. Still facing the door, he took a deep breath and said in a shaky voice, "Play it again, Blaine, and I'll tell you why I don't think it's appropriate, okay?"

Blaine turned to his iPod dock and scrolled back to the song. He was about to press play when he turned back to look at Kurt, who was sliding down the door to sit cross-legged on the floor. Blaine's hand froze and he said, "You're sitting on the floor?"

Kurt looked at him steadily. "I kinda need to have the feeling of something against my back. Plus, this way, I'm blocking the only exit."

Blaine couldn't help it. He raised one eyebrow and jerked his head back in the direction of the window, a slight smirk on his face.

"Don't even think about it," growled Kurt.

"I'm just teasing," said Blaine, feeling an odd sense of lightness drift through his fear. "No defenestration. I promise."

"Great," said Kurt, rolling his eyes slightly. "Now that we know you're going to ace the SATs, could you press play?"

Blaine complied, and then he stood there, suddenly feeling awkward as Chris Connor's voice swelled again. His gaze skittered around the room before settling back on Kurt, who was staring at him, his head cocked to the side as he listened to the lyrics. Kurt's face was calm, passive even, but his eyes felt like they were burning into Blaine's. They remained locked on him for the entirety of the song, and when it ended Kurt took in a deep breath and pointed to Blaine's bed. "Have a seat, Blaine," he said.

Blaine walked stiffly over to his bed, trying to look expectant instead of nervous. He failed miserably. He clasped his hands together and looked back at Kurt, who was no longer staring at him. Instead, he was looking down at his own hands, his fingers clenched and twinned together.

"I…I'm sorry, Blaine. You are not a toy, not to me, though I get how you might feel that way. I…Wes made me understand…how I treated you, how you've been treated, and I never wanted that. I never meant that. Not at all. I just didn't – " A loud knock interrupted Kurt's babbling. Blaine sighed. Just when it was getting good.

Kurt scrambled to his feet, flicked the lock and threw open the door. "What?" he snapped at the intruders, who turned out to be Jeff and Nick. Blaine groaned and began mentally smacking himself upside the head.

"Uh…" stuttered Jeff, blushing furiously. Nick just looked sullen. "Hi, Kurt. Um…could we…um…have a word with Blaine?" Jeff shot Blaine a look as he said this last part, and Blaine went from smacking himself mentally to imagining himself being disemboweled with a sharp, rusty pitchfork. Anything to get rid of the clenching feeling in his stomach. God, he was such an idiot.

"We're kind of in the middle of something," said Kurt, clearly irritated, but not yet catching the subtext. "Can you make it quick or come back later?"

Nick laughed, a bit harshly, and said, "I doubt we could be all that quick about it, Kurt. Well, maybe Jeff, as he's practically panting for it."

Kurt glanced back at Blaine, his eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. Blaine flinched. He should probably say something to diffuse the situation. "Offer rescinded," he attempted in his most polite voice. Kurt's eyes narrowed even further. Oops.

Kurt spun his head back around, glaring at Jeff and Nick. Jeff squeaked and took a step backwards, but Nick sighed in relief. "Indeed," said Kurt menacingly. "The _offer_ is rescinded. He's mine. Is that clear?"

Jeff opened his mouth to reply, but Nick covered it with his hand and said, "Very clear. We'll be going now." And then he dragged Jeff down the hallway.

Blaine vaguely heard the sound of the door slamming shut, but he wasn't really paying attention. _He's mine. He's mine. He's mine. _The raw possessiveness of those words crashed through his calm, terrifying and exhilarating him at the same time. _He's mine. _Boys had been possessive of him before; it happened, but he was never concerned by it because his actions always made it clear that he wasn't theirs. He wasn't anyone's, and he moved on too quickly for anyone to be deluded in that way for long. But now…Kurt had claimed him. The little scene that had played out between the three boys left him feeling a bit queasy – it felt like a transaction, like Kurt had somehow transformed him from everyone's whore into his alone, but even though it was more than a bit degrading to be claimed in that way, Blaine relished it. He wanted to be Kurt's, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. It was still shameful, still degrading, but his heart and his soul could work with it; he could be whatever Kurt wanted and needed him to be; he could make Kurt happy; he could please him, and in a small secret corner of himself he could pretend that it meant he was loved. _I'm his. _

"You didn't waste any time, did you?" Kurt was standing over him, his arms crossed, his eyes flashing. Blaine looked into those flashing eyes, so brightly blue, and realized that Kurt was angry at him; he'd been about to throw around something that wasn't his to throw around anymore. It was Kurt's, and he had to show Kurt that he understood that. All these thoughts were rushed, almost incoherent, an overwhelming buzz in his head that stole his senses and his coherency away from him. He couldn't speak his realization – there was no other path than to show him. Still looking into Kurt's eyes, he reached out his hand and laid his palm flat on Kurt's stomach, just above his belt. Kurt's eyes flashed brighter, and a small line appeared between his eyes. Blaine clenched his fingers, letting them dig into Kurt's belly through his shirt. Kurt's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and Blaine knew what to do. He slipped his fingers down into the waistband of Kurt's pants and tugged sharply, pulling Kurt's body into his as he fell backwards onto the bed. Kurt let out a high-pitched yelp as their bodies fell together, and then Blaine flipped them, dragging Kurt fully onto the bed and pressing into him.

"Blaine!" whined Kurt, his hands coming up to grab at Blaine's shoulders. Blaine shifted up momentarily, grabbed both of Kurt's wrists, and pinned them to the bed next to his shoulders. He lowered his own head to Kurt's neck, and began sucking at his pulse point as he pressed the full length of his body into Kurt's. His head buzzed even louder as he felt Kurt getting hard against him, and he shifted his grip on Kurt's wrists, dragging his hands together over his head and trapping them both with just one of his own so that the other was free to roam Kurt's body. Kurt was making whimpering, pleading noises, interspersed with Blaine's name and little breathy, 'Oh!'s that increased in volume and frequency as Blaine shifted slightly off his body so his hand could travel down to tweak at his nipple through his shirt. Kurt's hips jutted upwards at that, and Blaine growled roughly into Kurt's neck as he slid his fingers into the space between two buttons on Kurt's shirt and pulled, ripping it open, popping the buttons from the fabric. His blind fingers once again found Kurt's nipple. He tugged on it then rolled it, earning himself another buck from Kurt, and then he dragged his fingers downwards, roughly digging into the flesh. His hand found its way to the front of Kurt's trousers, and he grasped at the gratifyingly hard outline of Kurt's erection through the cloth. Kurt was whining his name now as Blaine furiously rubbed his palm against his length. He made quick work of Kurt's belt, and then of the button and zipper of his pants; he could feel the heat coming off Kurt in waves through the thin layer of his boxers as he stroked him. He sucked even harder on Kurt's neck, and suddenly one of Kurt's hands ripped free from his grasp and came down on Blaine's bicep, fingers digging hard into the arm that was working him. The buzzing in Blaine's head intensified as he began slipping his hand under the waistband of Kurt's boxers, but just as his fingers brushed against the head of Kurt's penis, the hand on his bicep disappeared and reappeared on his wrist, digging in painfully hard and stopping his movement. He tensed against it, trying to continue, but was met with resistance, and suddenly the buzzing in his ears shattered and condensed into words. Kurt was screaming, "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

* * *

><p>Kurt could not believe this was happening. One minute he'd felt like they were making progress – he was using the song Blaine sang as a starting point to explain himself, and he felt like it was working. Then suddenly Jeff and Nick were at the door, obviously already aware that Blaine was once again open for business, though Nick looked like he really didn't want to be there. What was that about? He was incensed and incredulous that anyone would dare try to get with Blaine while he was around; he knew Blaine was oblivious, but everyone else knew exactly how he felt about him. So he stood between Blaine and the people (Who were these people? He had thought they were friends!) who wanted to use Blaine. Once they were gone, he couldn't help his anger and hurt from coming out. He directed it at Blaine, even though a distant part of his mind was telling him he really shouldn't. He was never very good at listening to reason when he was upset, however, so he said:<p>

"You didn't waste any time, did you?"

It was a petty and bitchy thing to say, and he regretted it almost as soon as it left his mouth, or he would have, at any rate, if he wasn't distracted by the look Blaine was giving him. It was an incredibly desperate look, but his eyes, even though they were still boring into Kurt's, had a detached quality about them, as if he were listening to something Kurt couldn't hear. Then Kurt felt a hand on his stomach, and pleading was added to the catalogue of confusing emotions in Blaine's eyes. Blaine dug his fingers in, and Kurt had to close his eyes. That felt incredibly good, and not just in the sense that it shot straight to his groin; it felt like Blaine was trying to burrow inside him, to join him, to become the same as and a part of him. How he got all that from a simple gesture, Kurt had no idea, but the contented feeling was ripped from his mind as Blaine suddenly tugged on his belt and tumbled him into the bed. He fell hard against Blaine, and heard himself cry out. Then Blaine was on top of him, and he put his hands to Blaine's shoulders, suddenly very sure he did not want Blaine on top of him. He called out his name pleadingly, but before he could push away, Blaine had grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed. Kurt began to panic. Blaine had attached his lips to Kurt's neck, and his body was covering his, pressing into him. He felt Blaine's hardness against his own, and then Blaine was shifting his grip on his wrists, dragging his hand down Kurt's body. Kurt didn't know what to do, what to think. He both wanted this and didn't. Yes, he wanted Blaine to touch him, but why was this so rough, so frantic? And it was too soon. They hadn't talked yet. He needed Blaine to back off, to cool down, but that really didn't seem to be happening. He felt Blaine basically rip the shirt off his body, and, as his nipple was roughly twisted, he had a horrifying realization about what was going on. He had to stop this. Now, before it got any further. But he couldn't form the words; all his brain would supply him was Blaine's name and whimpering gasps because Blaine's hand was suddenly covering him, and he basically short-circuited. _Never been touched there. Oh god, Blaine is touching me! _His higher consciousness made one last valiant attempt to get through to him, and he realized that this was happening _again_, that they were doing things without talking, without knowing if there was love between them, without respect for each other; Blaine was running roughshod over him, treating both of them like whores, and Kurt couldn't let that happen. He felt Blaine's hand begin to dip below his boxers, and he knew that if he didn't say something now, he never would and they would be ruined even further. He somehow found his words in the middle of the confused mess of fear and longing and arousal and terror and love that was his brain, and started screaming, "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

**AN: Uh…yeah. I don't even know what to say, except the plot gods don't seem to want this to be easy. And Blaine is really messed up. It'll be okay, though, I promise. Mainly. I'll give you a hug if you need one. **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here is me, blushing slightly, looking at the floor and scuffing the floorboards with my toe. I'm so ashamed. I let this story go for far too long. All I can say is sorry, and plead life. I'm sure you all know how it rears up every once in a while and gets in the way of the things we love. **

* * *

><p>"Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!"<p>

Confused, Blaine pulled away, shifting up onto his knees. Kurt took the opportunity to shove at his shoulders hard with both hands, and Blaine tumbled backwards off the bed. His right shoulder hit the floor solidly, lancing pain through his chest. He shook it off and got to his feet, his eyes searching for Kurt, who was huddled in a ball against the headboard. He was panting raggedly and tears were trickling down his face. Blaine took in this sight, coupled with the livid red mark on Kurt's neck, the torn shirt and the trousers that were slipping off Kurt's behind, and was hit by the realization of what he'd been doing, what he'd done.

"Oh my god," he whispered, a wave of nausea passing through his gut. Kurt's head jerked up at the sound; he glared at Blaine through his tears, and bile flooded Blaine's mouth. He staggered over to his trashcan, just making it in time. He vomited in wave after wave, everything he'd eaten that day quickly expunged from his body, until he was heaving dryly into the can and sobbing in pain and mortification.

Several moments passed, and then he felt Kurt's hand come and rest gently in the middle of his back. He flew away from it, leaping across the room and pressing his back into the window. "Don't touch me! I'm so wrong! Everything about me is wrong! It's not enough that I'm a fucking whore, but now I'm a rapist too! What the fuck is wrong with me?" He gasped out the words, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to fend off the horror he felt.

"Blaine!" Kurt's voice cut through the babbling madness in his mind, sharp and severe. "Blaine! Look at me!" Blaine opened his eyes. Kurt was sitting on the edge of his bed, his clothing once more fastened, or as much as it could be, and his hands were rubbing anxiously against his knees. "You stopped," he said in a softer voice. "I asked you to stop, and you stopped. You didn't rape me, Blaine. You stopped."

"But if you hadn't…" Blaine said, the horror still creeping in his voice.

"I did. I asked you to stop. Why didn't _you_ ask _me_ to stop?"

Blaine was confused. "You weren't doing anything. It was all me, and I…"

"I don't mean now, Blaine. I mean this afternoon. Why didn't you ask me to stop?"

"You didn't do anything then either," said Blaine, though he could feel the lie in his voice. "It was me who did everything. How could I ask you to stop when I was the one fondling myself like a whore?"

"That's a lie, Blaine, and you know it. You didn't want it like that; you didn't want me to tell you what to do and ogle you while you did it. You didn't want it, so why didn't you stop me from doing it? If I'd known, I never would have." Kurt was looking at him sadly now.

Blaine slumped into the windowsill, taking the weight off his legs as he buried his face in his hands. "I…part of me did want it. I thought if I couldn't have all of you, I could at least have that little bit. The bit where you wanted to see me, even if it wasn't what I hoped for. I took what I could get, and what I deserved. You saw what I was, and you didn't love me, but you did offer me that. How could I possibly tell you to stop, especially as I know now that you never would have if I'd told you what I wanted?"

"Oh Blaine, there are so many things wrong with what you just said," sighed Kurt.

"I know. I'm always wrong," agreed Blaine sullenly.

"That's not what I meant. Not at all, Blaine. _YOU_ are not wrong. You are wonderful and beautiful and amazing and, yes, a little bit crazy, but I love even that, Blaine, and I would have done whatever you wanted. If you'd just told me."

Blaine's head shot up from his hands. He gaped at Kurt, unable to speak, and Kurt continued, his eyes fixed on Blaine's. "It's not what you deserved. You don't deserve that; you never have and you never will. You deserved to be cherished and loved and admired and revered and respected. And you have all of that from me, Blaine, and I am so, so sorry that I didn't show you that today. I just…I thought I should act a certain way. I thought that was how you wanted me to act, and I was afraid to show you how blown away I was by it because I thought you would stop. You've stayed away from me for so long, and then there you were in my lap, showing me something that I never even imagined could be so beautiful, and I thought that if I touched you or kissed you or told you how beautiful you were, you would realize what you were doing. And you would stop. I didn't want that. I used you, Blaine, and I am so, so sorry."

"God, why are you apologizing to me, Kurt?" sobbed Blaine, waves of shame still thrilling through his body, making it almost impossible for him to grasp what Kurt was saying. He wanted it all to be true; he wanted it so badly, but now more than ever he was sure he didn't deserve even the smallest bit of Kurt's love. He took in Kurt's disheveled appearance once more, and shuddered, hating himself. "I don't even know who I am, Kurt," he continued mournfully. "For so long, I just let myself go. You wouldn't believe half the things I've done, but this…this is so much worse." He slipped from the windowsill and sat on the floor, his back to the wall and his face buried in his hands once more.

"I do know some of it," replied Kurt solemnly. "Maybe…could you tell me why you reacted that way, just now?"

Blaine stared at him, swallowing convulsively. "I… You were so possessive of me. You told them that I was yours, and I just…. I lost it; I've been shifting back and forth into this mode all day where I can't actually feel how much things are hurting, so I act on them instead. It's not quite the way I used to act, because that was a lot more carefree, but it's like there are two sides of me – the part that wants and the part that feels. But then you _claimed _me" – Blaine shivered and closed his eyes briefly – "and I… It was like those two parts came slamming together, and if I could show you that you were right, that I was yours, then maybe…maybe it would be enough, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much. But of course, I couldn't even do that right; I just assaulted you instead." Blaine's voice was bitter and small by the end of this little speech, and he was looking at the floor as if he wanted it to open up and swallow him.

Kurt just watched him in silence for a few moments, and then he said, "You are mine, Blaine, but only in so much as the reciprocal is true: that I'm yours."

Blaine slowly lifted his head and took in the sight of Kurt staring at him intensely and affectionately. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice lighter than before.

"It wasn't possessive, so much as protective, Blaine. I didn't want anyone else to hurt you; I didn't want _you_ to hurt you, so I put myself in between you and the people who would hurt you, the people you would let hurt you." Kurt paused for a second and then laughed harshly. "I can't believe that Jeff and Nick would do that. I thought they at least cared about you. But they don't, so I had to make it clear that it wasn't going to happen. I wasn't claiming you; I wasn't saying that only I was allowed to use you, to hurt you: I was just telling them that there was someone protecting you from them."

"I don't think they were planning on hurting me," said Blaine flippantly, but inside he felt a swelling gratitude that Kurt cared enough to place himself between him and the world.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Right, Blaine, because being used for sex has obviously had such a good effect on your mental health."

Blaine snorted, and then nodded his head. "Yeah, it's the greatest," he replied with soft sarcasm.

"And that brings us full circle," said Kurt, feeling slightly triumphant and like maybe, perhaps, possibly he was finally getting through to Blaine. "You stopped doing that for a reason, Blaine. You need to tell me about that; Wes made that very clear. And then you need to tell me exactly why you cried this afternoon. I obviously have my own ideas, but I need to hear it from you."

Blaine nodded slowly, trying to swallow back the sudden terror that gripped his throat. "You. I stopped because of you," he said softly. "It's so hard to put my finger on it, but you seem to occupy your own space. You are so intrinsically yourself: you don't let your experiences warp you; you don't try to adapt to your environment; you walk through the world, completely unique, completely yourself, completely beautiful and full of some strange knowledge that lets you do that, and I have no idea where it comes from or how you do it, but I saw it right away. On anyone else it would seem like arrogance or aloofness, but on you it's so…warm. So beautiful. And I wanted that for myself. I thought I knew who I was, but meeting you shattered that notion. It made me realize that I'd been living other peoples' expectations of me."

Blaine paused, looking at Kurt to see what he made of all this. Kurt just gazed back at him and then made a gentle 'go on' gesture with his right hand.

Blaine's mouth twisted slightly into a grimace, and then he continued, "Being gay. Everyone around me, all the people who put me down and beat me up and called me names, but also the people who supposedly supported me – they all thought it was about sex. Just about sex. And I believed that. I believed it so hard that I made myself into that, and stupidly thought that I was actually expressing myself, finally showing the world who I really was. Then you came along, and you expressed yourself so effortlessly, and it wasn't about sex at all."

Kurt snorted slightly, and Blaine felt a sudden stab of hurt and confusion that Kurt would dismiss what he was saying. He trained his eyes on a particularly defined line in the grain of the floorboards and said sullenly, "What?"

"Oh, don't sulk, Blaine. You just told me I was sexless; it's not exactly flattering," said Kurt wryly. "Look at me, Blaine."

Blaine complied, raising his eyes to Kurt, who continued, "Do you really believe that? It makes me sound like some kind of ethereal angel of gayness, totally unapproachable, totally flawless, and that's just ridiculous. Not to mention a little disheartening. I may not have done anything sexual before today, Blaine, but that doesn't mean that sex isn't a part of me, or important to me…or something I hope to do more of, particularly with you. But if you see me like that, if you see _us_ like that – I'm the Virgin and you're the Whore – then we're seriously fucked."

Blaine gaped at him, partly for putting it in terms he knew made his whole vision of Kurt fall apart, and partly for his rare use of profanity. "No…I mean…I guess…," he stuttered, and then he breathed deeply, trying to center himself and gather the threads of this conversation back into himself. "There's two ways I saw you," he said finally. "And yes, one way was as…perfection. But I also saw that you weren't perfect, that you could be bitchy, sometimes even mean, and also that you were unsure of yourself at times, and sometimes sexy, though I always thought it was…unintentional. I admired you right away. I thought to myself, 'This is what I want, both to be and to have.' But you're right; I thought you were unapproachable. At first. But then I began to fall in love with you, and I thought that you might love me back, and it seemed like that was the way. Like it was a conduit between the two ways I saw you, and that eventually I would be comfortable enough in that love that I could…" Blaine paused here, because there was really no elevated way to say this: "Um…make a move?" He peered into Kurt's eyes, trying to see what he made of that. Kurt just stared at him blankly for a few moments, and then smiled widely.

"Love, huh?" said Kurt lightly. Blaine nodded, and they just looked at each other for a few moments. Then Kurt's smile dipped, turning into a frown. "So today…" he prompted.

"Today," sighed Blaine, raising one hand to his eyes and rubbing them tiredly. "Today, I felt like that conduit was shattered, like there wasn't any love, and it was all just about sex again, and I just…."

"It was," said Kurt. "About love, I mean. But it was also about sex."

Blaine just looked at him, slightly confused. Kurt sighed, and said, "They're not separate for me, Blaine, and I don't really want them to be separate for you either. I know I should have said something today, but I was scared that I would mess things up. I didn't really understand that not saying anything would be worse. But I think…" Kurt paused here, and took a deep steadying breath, as if to gather courage. "If it had been me doing that…" Kurt blushed, pursed his lips, shook his head and corrected himself: "If I were jerking off in your lap, how would you feel?"

Blaine blinked at him, and then shuddered, his mind conjuring up vivid images of Kurt half-naked and flushed, laid out before his eyes. "I'd feel blessed. And terrified. And in awe. And so very, very lucky," he said hoarsely.

"And love? Would you feel that?" asked Kurt softly.

"Yes."

"What would you have done differently? To show me that?"

Blaine stared at Kurt, perched on the bed five feet away from him. Kurt just stared back, his head tilted slightly to one side. Blaine licked his dry lips and said, "I'd have looked into your eyes, and…I would have kissed you."

Kurt sighed. "So simple," he said ruefully. "I'm an idiot, Blaine. I was too scared to do the things I should have done, too unsure of myself. I can't take it back; all I can do is assure you that I do love you, and that I loved what you did, and that you were beautiful. And…"

"And?"

Kurt seemed to straighten his already immaculate posture just a bit. He folded his hands in his lap to keep them from nervously running over his thighs, took a steadying breath, and replied, "I could offer you a reprise of sorts."

"A reprise?" asked Blaine in a stunned and almost helplessly confused voice.

"With variations," said Kurt somewhat primly, trying to control his voice. "So you can…show me."

"Show you?" Blaine's voice cracked. He flushed, suddenly realizing what Kurt was suggesting. The flush traveled through his entire body instantly, wiping his mind almost blank. He watched helplessly as Kurt stood up from the bed and walked over to where he sat on the floor. Kurt stood over him for a few seconds before asking in a halting voice, "Can I put my head in your lap, Blaine?"

Blaine's mind kicked into gear once more, and began racing, dragging him forward into images of what might be happening, could be happening, very soon. Kurt removing his clothes, touching himself, staring up at Blaine, straining towards him, their lips touching – and then his mind shuttered and stopped. "Uh, Kurt?" he said in a tentative voice. "I think you're forgetting something."

"What's that?" said Kurt worriedly, still looking down at him.

Blaine blushed and mumbled, "I kinda need to brush my teeth."

Kurt's face went blank, and then he snorted. "Yeah. Ew. Gross," he conceded.

"Five minutes?" asked Blaine as he leapt to his feet.

"Yeah, sure. Five minutes," said Kurt, running his hand through his hair in agitation and watching as Blaine ran out the door towards the bathroom down the hall. He felt a surge of fear pass through him, and he wondered if maybe Blaine was just using this as an excuse to avoid a frightening situation. He also wondered if he'd be able to get through the next five minutes without giving into his own fears and insecurities. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso and began pacing the length of Blaine's room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: So anticlimactic. Sorry about that. The question is, should I make life easy on our beloved boys, or should I throw something else into the mix?<strong>


End file.
